


Hope For The Future

by Setari



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Alpha Pack, Creeper Peter, Gen, Good Peter, Ignores Season 3, Kid Fic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Next Generation, Original Character(s), POV Isaac, POV Scott, POV Stiles, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Post Season 2, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setari/pseuds/Setari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirty years in the future, a coven of warlocks threatens the safety of the Hale Pack. When the chief warlock decides to travel back to a time when the pack was a broken shadow of what it will be, Ash and his brother and sister follow him into the past in a last-ditch effort to protect their family. However, when they arrive they find that the warlock is going to be the least of their problems. Not only do they have to stop the warlock before he kills anyone and keep themselves from altering the future too much, but there's also the Alpha Pack to contend with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ash

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning; my update schedule is non-existent, and likely to be all over the place. If you're getting impatient for an update, drop me a comment to remind me there are people other than myself interested in this fic.

The woods were dark, but they hadn’t been silent for hours. The sounds of snarling, yelling, screaming and the occasional explosion filled the forest with sound, giving a reference to the violence Ash knew was being acted out around him. Worry churned in his gut, because that was his family out there, his pack, but he ignored it. A single lapse in his concentration and the spell he was weaving would collapse. Ash had grown up in these woods. He knew them like other kids knew their back yards, and he used that knowledge now to reach out with his magic, to locate their enemies.

A coven of warlocks had invaded Hale territory in ignorance. They had come looking for sacrifices for their latest ritual, but what they had found instead was a werewolf pack ready and willing to defend their town. Ash’s parents had tried to keep the kids out of the fight, at least the ones Ash’s age or younger, but the warlocks were many and powerful, and they had been dragged into the fight whether they liked it or not.

Ash had been born with magic in his veins, it came naturally to him like the shift came naturally to his werewolf kin. He reached out with his magic, sensing out the pack through the pack-bond, and then went looking for those heartbeats that didn’t resonate with a sense of family and home. These ones sang with dark magic, rich and intoxicating and almost nauseatingly sweet. Ash felt a twinge of fear when he counted over a dozen of them.

A little way off, his cousin Valerie ripped into one of the warlocks and Ash felt the man’s presence flicker and fade away. But these were all underlings. His family was being held off by the grunts, who were admittedly powerful enough to be a big problem by themselves, while the head of their coven prepared a clearing for their ritual sacrifice.

Eyes snapping open again, Ash returned to himself and his physical surroundings. On his left, his brother Russell was fighting with a mountain ash staff that was really doing a number on the warlocks trying to get past him. Off somewhere in front of him, Ash could see his sister, Fallon, bounding through the trees in her lithe black wolf form. She was surrounded by warlocks, but holding her own impressively. No doubt the warlocks had felt Ash’s use of magic and rushed to stop him. He’d never been more grateful to have over-protective older sibling in his life.

Without a word, Ash sprinted off into the forest. He knew his brother and sister would follow if they could, and if they couldn’t, Ash knew where his nearest packmates were. He dodged through the trees, passing Grandpa Argent fighting back to back with his daughter, and promptly swerved to the right and passed the twins, Killian and Damien, seamlessly shifting between wolf and man as they fought.

He could feel Fallon racing through the trees beside him, sensed Russell a little way behind, but catching up fast, and he finally left the battle behind as he darted deeper into the woods. The sounds of the fight faded away to silence, until the only sounds Ash could pick up were his own breathing and the sound of Russell’s footsteps. Fallon’s paws were silent on the thick carpet of leaf mould on the forest floor.

They burst into the clearing side by side and skidded to a stop to take in the scene before them. The head of the coven of warlocks, a startlingly average looking man with cropped brown hair, faint stubble and tired eyes, was kneeling inside a circle of herbs, ashes and other magical ingredients, and was chanting under his breath over a gleaming dagger. On the other side of the clearing, seven people were lying unconscious, bound and gagged, in a heap.

The warlock’s head jerked up as they entered the clearing, his mumbled chanting coming to an abrupt stop. He seemed to be swelling with power for a moment, no doubt planning to blast them away from him, disorient them, or possibly even kill them, but then his eyes met Ash’s, and he paused a smile that was more a leer than anything else overcoming his features. “Ah, the young Mage. I felt your presence from the moment I set foot in this town, but unfortunately, recruiting you comes second to our rituals.”

“Thanks but no thanks.” Ash replied at once.

“Your talents are wasted on this flea-bitten pack of mongrel dogs.” The warlock countered, shooting a disdainful look at Fallon, whose hackles rose at the insult to her pack. “Think of what you could do without them holding you back. Without their binary mindset keeping you limited.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you, you prejudiced little shit?” Russell asked from beside Ash.

“Silence!” The warlock hissed, raising a hand in Russell’s direction. Russell opened his mouth, probably to shoot off another taunt, but no sound came out. Ash felt the indignation rising up in him and he flexed his will, pressing against the warlock’s curse until he could pry it away from his brother. Russell let out an impressive stream of swears, and the warlock turned an admiring gaze on Ash. “Well, well, well, you’re certainly a _natural_ at this. You don’t even need words, do you? Let alone a physical representation. A natural indeed.”

Ash took a deep breath, trying to center himself. _Control_ , his dad always stressed. It was important to acknowledge and feel your emotions, but the moment they took control, you were lost. Your enemy had the advantage then, they had a way in, a way to break you. “You are going to stop what you are doing, leave Beacon Hills, and never, ever threaten my pack again.” Ash stated as firmly as he could.

The warlock laughed. “Oh, am I?” He asked through his chuckles. “You may be a natural, but it seems that level of charm is beyond you as of yet.” He pointed out, expression slowly darkening. “Your pack, you say? Perhaps I was mistaken. Your magic when it swept this clearing earlier felt like the power of a Mage, but you talk like a Druid, like one of those cursed Emissaries.”

“I am a Mage.” Ash replied. “But I am also a Hale, and part of the Hale Pack.”

The warlock looked utterly repulsed by this notion. “You say that as though you are proud to get into bed with _dogs_.” He spat. Ash pulled a face right back. “Most wolf packs are an annoyance at best, but it is true that _your_ pack has proved wearisome. You have too many magic users, and the _feel_ of your bond in the air makes my skin _crawl_ with it’s potency.” He scoffed.

Ash couldn’t help the proud smile that spread over his face. “A stronger bond makes a stronger pack.” He replied happily.

The warlock hummed, a nasty smile overtaking his face. “But it wasn’t always so, was it?” He mused. “No, once your pack was divided, weak. The fire at your house, hmm, must have been around thirty years ago, it broke so many bonds, you can still feel the shards if you dig deep enough.”

Ash shuddered. He knew the warlock was right, but he tried so hard not to reach for those broken memories. The power released by the forced breaking of a pack bond as powerful as the Hale pack had, that was potent stuff, and eleven people had died in that fire. Eleven pack members with their bonds to the rest of the pack severed by flame and smoke.

Still, what was more disturbing than the memory of those broken bonds was the smile on the warlock’s face. He was smirking like he’d already won. “Let’s see how easy it will be to break your shattered pack.” Were his parting words before he drove the dagger into the ground and vanished.

Russell and Fallon lurched forwards, Fallon towards the sacrifices, and Russell towards the circle. However, once he reached it, he found he couldn’t cross it. “Damn it, where did he go?!” Russell demanded. He didn’t get an answer, though, because Ash had doubled over when the warlock vanished, the rush of power making him dizzy. “Ash? Hey, Ash!” Russell yelped, and then there were arms around Ash, holding him steady, and another pair of hands, Fallon’s, smoothed down his back and carded through his hair. “What did that sick bastard do to you?” Russell asked.

“Nothing.” Ash gasped out, reaching out with both hands for his sibling. “But he’s gonna- Need to stop him.”

“What can we do?” Fallon asked, calm and serious. She always managed to sooth Ash when he got worked up thanks to his sensitivity to magic. Ash managed to get a hand around Fallon’s arm, and her own hold on him tightened in response. “Talk to us, Ash.” She pressed.

“He’s gone back- Back to when our pack was still broken, like in Pops’ stories.” Ash managed to explain. “He’s going to try and break us before we were even whole. We need to- They’re not ready to deal with someone like him, not back then. We have to help. We have to go after him and stop him.”

“Can you do that?” Fallon asked.

Ash took a couple of steadying breaths, and Russell finally caught hold of his other hand. “I have to.” He answered, letting the knowledge that this was the only solution fill him to the brim. This was the only answer, the only way to save his pack, and he would do it, whether or not it was _possible_.

The magic in his veins swelled in response to his determination, his will. It sang within him, within his brother and sister, even in the air around him. It pulsed with his heartbeat, cocooned them, and then they were gone, leaving only a shockwave of power that flattened the grass all the way through the clearing and knocked down a tree or two. They left one battlefield behind, and stepped into one of another sort entirely.


	2. Stiles

Stiles had not been having a good day. It started at three in the morning, when he was woken by a phone call from Derek, asking him about the research he’d been doing into the Alpha pack for him. Then he had to endure an awkward breakfast with his dad, who was still trying to figure out what, exactly, it was that Stiles was hiding from him.

Then his plans to enjoy a lazy summer were interrupted by a murder that sounded suspiciously wolfish in nature. With Peter being somewhat less Psycho McMurderWolf since his resurrection, Stiles decided to attribute it to the Alpha pack, though he did make a mental note to look into it when the crime scene wasn’t crawling with his dad’s cops. Finally, Stiles managed to get Scott to stop moping about Allison and agree to meet him at the lacrosse field for some summer practise, so of course something would go wrong there too.

He had just climbed out of the jeep and collected his lacrosse stick, when three people appeared in front of him, right out of thin air. The only girl was stunning, with wavy black hair pulled back into a low ponytail, pale skin, flawless bone structure, full lips and eyes the colour of the sea. She had a kind face, and a quiet air of confidence around her. She was lithe; thin, but every line was taut with power under her black skinny jeans and fitted aviator jacket.

The boy in the middle, who looked younger than the other two by several years, collapsed the moment they appeared, and the girl caught him with ease. He was young, maybe twelve or thirteen, and his skin was pale. He was pretty, in that way that prepubescent boys were when they were going to grow into exceedingly handsome men. His hair was a dark mop of brown curls, and he was gangly like only teenagers could be, dressed in loose, pale jeans and a purple hoodie.

As the girl lowered him gently to the ground, kneeling with his head on her lap, the other boy swore violently enough to make a sailor blush. His eyes, light brown in colour, were on Stiles, though they flicked to Scott when said boy stepped up beside him, frowning. His skin was pale too, but covered in freckles to match his vibrantly ginger hair, which stuck up in an artfully styled mess. He was wearing sturdy jeans and a faded green cargo jacket that looked as though it had been through a lot. Out of the three of them, he was the most messy, with mud smeared across his cheek and twigs in his hair. There was even what looked like blood on the knee of his jeans. And that wasn’t even mentioning the five foot staff of pale wood he was holding in one hand that was speckled with bloodstains.

“Well this is a clusterfuck.” The ginger boy finished off with, running a distressed hand through his hair, rumpling it up even more.

“How did you do that?” Stiles asked. It was the most pressing question at the moment.

“Do what-?” The ginger boy replied.

“Appear. Out of thin air.” Stiles pointed out, eyebrows raised because what the hell else would he be talking about.

The ginger boy looked startled and confused for a moment, then something seemed to dawn on him, and he nodded. “Oh, right, that. Magic. Ash’s magic.” He explained, indicating the unconscious boy. “He’s gonna be conked out for fucking days now, and I know fuck all about what we’re even supposed to be doing here. Fallon, a little help please?”

The girl looked up at her name, then looked over at Stiles and Scott. Surprise showed on her face for a moment, before it smoothed over into mild politeness. “Hello. Sorry if we startled you. You didn’t happen to see a warlock go by, did you?”

“Are we supposed to know what one of those would look like?” Stiles asked.

Fallon opened her mouth, probably about to give a description, but Scott beat her to the punch. “You’re a werewolf.” He stated.

Fallon arched one eyebrow, looking almost amused if the quirk of her lips was anything to go by. “Yes. So are you.” She agreed mildly, then turned back to Stiles. “A warlock is a form of magic user. They look normal, for the most part, but when they use their magic, the whites of their eyes turn black. Besides warlocks, there are witches, who focus mostly on the power of words, druids, who channel the power of the earth, and mages, who affect the world through the use of their willpower alone.” She explained.

“Is that like… imagination is more important than knowledge?” Stiles asked curiously.

Fallon smiled. Stiles couldn’t help but stare because her smile was almost – almost – as pretty as Lydia’s. “Precisely.” She agreed. “ A witch turned dark is a warlock, a druid turned dark is a darach, and a mage turned dark is a sorcerer, or there about. The disciplines do intermingle somewhat in actual practice.”

“Oh. Well, no, I don’t think we saw any evil witches running by.” Stiles replied.

“You smell funny.” Scott stated suddenly, and Stiles couldn’t help but gape at his friend. Scott, however, was frowning at the three strangers in suspicion.

Fallon arched an eyebrow again, and she was definitely amused. “I’m so glad you noticed. I haven’t been rolling around in the woods all day just for people to ignore the fact I smell like leaf mould and fox dung.” She mused sarcastically. Stiles couldn’t help but snort.

Scott finally had the decency to blush. “No, I meant… familiar. Especially him.” Scott continued, pointing at the unconscious boy. Ash, Stiles remembered the red-head calling him that. “I can’t place it, but it’s really familiar.”

“It’ll come to you.” Fallon replied mildly.

“So what now?” The red-head asked. When Stiles looked at him, his eyes were fixed on Fallon, as though she was supposed to always have an answer to that question.

“We need somewhere where Ash can rest and recover in peace and safety.” Fallon stated with certainty. “Do you have any supplies on you, Russell?” She asked, looking up as she patted down her pockets with the hand that wasn’t smoothing out Ash’s hair.

Russell didn’t seem to need to pat his pockets down. “Money – about fifty bucks – phone, torch, mountain ash, taser, lighter, knife, painkillers.” He rattled off with ease. “Pretty much everything, though I lost the bandages when Di got hit with something.”

Fallon sighed. “She shouldn’t have been out there.”

“Neither should Ash.” Russell snapped, though Stiles was pretty sure it wasn’t Fallon he was cross with. “Damnit, we really fucked up this time, sis. Those assholes got the jump on us, which never happens. I mean, I know P- our great uncle’s nose is going a bit in his old age, but we have Pops and- We shouldn’t- And after everything… If we loose anyone, Dad’s gonna…” Russell shook his head, looking pained.

“I know.” Fallon replied. “That’s why we’re here.” She reminded him. “To stop that warlock hurting any of our pack.”

Stiles thinks this is a lot more complicated than it looks, and he doesn’t much like not having all the answers. “So, let me get this straight. There’s a warlock here in Beacon Hills, and the reason he’s here is because he has a grudge against your pack, and you have pack here?” He questions, eyebrows raised.

“Of a sort.” Fallon replied. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Of course it is.” Stiles agreed, voice going falsely chipper. “This s Beacon Hills. When is anything ever simple here?” He wondered sarcastically. Fallon smiled a secret sort of smile that told Stiles that she was both amused by his outburst, and that she agreed with him.

“I can try to explain a few things to you.” Fallon offered. “But I need to take care of my pack first. Ash needs a place to rest, and easy access to food when he wakes up.” She explained, curling a little more around the boy in her lap.

Stiles shared a look with Scott, silently communicating. Finally, Scott sighed. “I guess you can probably crash at my place. My mom knows about this werewolf stuff, so she should be alright with it for a little while.” He agreed reluctantly.

“I ought to call Derek.” Stiles said finally, looking like there was a long list of things he rather do. Russell did a double take and stared at him in surprise. “What?” He asked defensively.

Fallon looked up at that, eyebrows raised in curiosity. She took in the startled expression on Russell’s face and thumped him in the leg. “Remember where we are, Russell.” She reprimanded tiredly. Russell looked puzzled for a moment, then realisation dawned in his eyes and he winced, grimacing apologetically. “Of course they need to inform the local Alpha that strange wolves are on their territory. Especially here.” She reminded him.

“What?” Stiles asked. “Why especially here?”

“Hold that thought.” Scott interrupted. “Lets get- uh…” He pointed to the boy in Fallon’s lap in question, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Ash.” Fallon reminded him.

“Ash.” Scott echoed, nodding. “Lets get Ash into the Jeep. We can talk on the way.” He suggested, and Stiles had to admit, it was a good idea. Fallon seemed to think so, too, because she stood, lifting Ash with ease, and followed the two boys to the jeep. She and Russell clambered into the back, Ash curled up on their laps, while Scott leapt back into the passenger seat and Stiles slipped in behind the wheel.

“So, yeah, what did you mean about especially here?” Stiles asked once they were on the road to Scott’s house.

Fallon looked surprised. “You- You don’t know?” She questioned.

“Know what?” Stiles asked, flicking his eyes up to the rear-view mirror, where he could see Fallon’s grey-green eyes reflected. Their eyes met in the mirror, and as they passed through a shaded patch of road, her eyes faded to a stormy blue. Stiles got a bizarre feeling that he knew her from somewhere else in that instant.

“The Hale pack is… extremely important.” Fallon explained finally, hesitantly, as though choosing her words with care. “They… they used to hold the entirety of Trinity National Forest as their territory.”

This caused Stiles to choke on thin air. “That much?!” He yelped. Fallon nodded, her eyes sad. “I had no idea, why did Derek never- Oh… you said used to.” Stiles remembered, eyes narrowing. “What ha- Right, the fire.” He concluded, nodding slowly. “And then Derek and Laura left.”

“The fact that there was still technically a Hale here stopped them loosing the territory entirely.” Fallon continued. “But the neighbouring packs, the Steele pack to the East, and the Cassidy pack in Oregon, they moved in over time, just extending their borders little by little.” She shrugged and turned her gaze out of the window. “With- With Alpha Hale back in Beacon Hills and building a pack again, you’ll need to treat with the neighbouring packs, redistribute the territory.”

“Wait, wait, you say ‘you’ like we’re included in Derek’s pack.” Stiles jumped in, alarmed.

Fallon blinked at him in surprise. “Well-… I’m sorry, I thought you were?”

“No.” Scott asserted firmly. “We’re not.”

Fallon ducked her head in apology. “Forgive me. It’s just… you do smell like you belong to the Hale Pack.”

“Wh- Me too?” Stiles questioned, pointing to himself and looking at Fallon in the rear-view mirror again.

“That… surprises you?” Fallon replied, eyebrows rising.

“Well, yeah. In case you hadn’t noticed; Me human.” Stiles replied.

“Human members of wolf packs are officially called sigmas. They’re an important part of any pack; they keep the wolves grounded, human. A sort of universal anchor for the entire pack, that cements the effect of each individual’s anchor.” Fallon explained slowly. “You… didn’t know that?” She asked hesitantly.

Stiles shook his head. “We’ve kind of been winging it.” He confessed. “Too much shit has gone down here for any of us to really sit down and talk it out. Plus, the only werewolves we know who know what the hell is going on… well, Derek doesn’t like to use his words, and no one wants to talk to Peter.”

Fallon nodded. “It must be so hard for them.” She breathed. “I couldn’t imagine loosing a single member of my pack, let alone all- all of them in one go like that. And to be trying to rebuild now, it must be opening up all sorts of old wounds.”

Stiles didn’t really know what to do with that. He couldn’t really reconcile that idea with the image Derek presented. But then, he realised, he’d seen behind that mask on occasion. Derek was just as lost as they were. He was saved from having to say anything about his thoughts when they pulled up outside Scott’s. He clambered out, and was followed by Scott and the three strangers. They trooped inside, and were met by Melissa in the hallway.

“Back already?” She asked, then spotted Russell and Fallon. “Who are- Oh my god, what happened?!” She demanded when she spotted Ash, rushing over.

“He’ll be fine with sleep and food.” Fallon assured her mildly. “Really. Is there somewhere I can put him?” She asked.

Melissa looked doubtful, but she nodded. “There’s the spare room, here, let me show you-” She promptly led the way up to the guest bedroom and fussed while Fallon lay Ash on the bed and covered him with the blanket. “What on earth happened?” Melissa demanded.

Russell leaned back against the windowsill, and Fallon sat on the end of the bed, cross-legged. It was Scott who spoke up. “Mom, they’re- Well, they’re werewolves.” Scott told her, and Melissa did a double-take.

“Well, Fallon is.” Russell corrected. “I was born to wolves, but I’m human, and Ash is… Ash is Ash.” He concluded, pulling a face.

Fallon rolled her eyes. “Ash is a werewolf, too, but he’s also a mage. Thank you for letting his rest here. He used a lot of magic recently, and it’s extremely tiring for him.” She explained, smiling gratefully at Melissa.

While Melissa waved the thanks off and questioned them more about magic, Stiles backed out of the room and pulled out his phone. Selecting Derek’s number, he pressed call and waited for the stupid wolf to pick up. “Stiles. What is it?” Derek asked bluntly when he picked up.

“A magical teleporter, a warlock, a strange werewolf, some magical battle thing, and a hell of a lot of shit you haven’t been telling me.” Stiles reeled off. “I mean, I know I’m the breakable human here, but knowledge is kind of my thing, Derek. Also, why did the strange werewolf think me and Scott were part of your pack?”

There was silence on the other end for a moment. “They probably thought that because you have been spending a lot of time with me and my pack.” Derek pointed out. “You probably still smell like us.”

“Great.” Stiles grumbled. “Well, we’re at Scott’s, so you probably want to get here so we can sort this brand spanking new clusterfuck out.”

“I’m on my way.” Derek replied, then hung up.

“We still need to work on your manners.” Stiles muttered at his phone as he slid it back into his pocket and returned to the spare room. “Derek’s on his way.” He announced without enthusiasm. The strange thing, he noticed, was the way Fallon’s shoulders slumped as though she was relieved, even though she didn’t give any other sign of emotion at the news.

“So, how long will Ash be out?” Melissa asked, sounding concerned.

“He’s never done a spell that big before.” Russell replied, scowling at Ash’s slumbering form. “Last time he teleported from across town, he was unconscious for ten hours. This… This was way bigger. He might be out for a week for all we know.”

“I don’t think it will be that long.” Fallon murmured, but she sounded uncertain for the first time. Stiles realised that she was more worried than she was letting on about Ash. “But he probably won’t be awake until tomorrow.”

“What are we going to do until then?” Russell questioned.

“What we came here to do.” Fallon replied, steel creeping back into her voice. She glanced over her shoulder at Russell, and after a long moment, he nodded.

“Are you the Alpha of your pack?” Stiles asked.

Fallon looked at him, startled. Finally, she shook her head. “No, I’m not. That would be my dad. But I’m the eldest, so I’ll be Alpha when he decides to pass it on.” She told him with a faint smile. “Dad’s promised to wait at least until I’ve finished college before he even thinks about it, but it probably won’t be for a long time yet.”

“You’re in college?” Scott asked.

Fallon nodded. “I’m studying anthropology, economics and English literature.”

“That’s a lot.” Stiles murmured, impressed. Fallon smiled at the implied compliment. They degenerated into silence as they waited for Derek to arrive, and it wasn’t long before Scott and Fallon perked up and Stiles took that as the signal that the Camaro had finally pulled up outside. Sure enough, a moment later, there was a knock on the door, and Scott reluctantly went to answer it after a look from his mother.

The tension in the room skyrocketed, which left Stiles feeling jittery and on edge. Then Derek stepped into the room, and he was frowning like he was puzzled by something, eyeing the three strangers warily. Behind him came Peter, which made Stiles want to groan. He didn’t really want to associate with Peter. Judging by the look on Scott’s face as he followed the two Hales, he wasn’t all that happy with Peter’s presence either.

Peter looked at the three newcomers in surprise. “Oh, well this is interesting.” He murmured, a smirk curling the corners of his lips. “I know who you are.” He stated, looking from Fallon, to Ash, then on to Russell. “I must say it’s lovely to see you.” He added.

Fallon and Russell looked stunned. “You…” Fallon began. “You recognise us?”

“My dear, you smell like your parents, and I recognise that lovely bone structure. I must say I’m fascinated to learn how that came about, because I’m not sure I can imagine how it happened.” Peter replied, looking exceedingly smug and also intrigued.

Fallon swallowed, then launched herself off the bed at Peter. Stiles tensed, and Derek growled quietly, but Fallon merely wrapped her arms around Peter and hugged him tight. Peter raised his eyebrows at the top of her head, but hugged her back. “Thank god.” Fallon breathed, then leaned back to look at Peter. “Is Ash going to be ok? He- he transported us here, but then he passed out, and he’s never done a spell that large before.”

Peter looked from her to the bed. “Ash, I presume?” He asked, and Fallon nodded, drawing back to give Peter room to move. “How far did you come?”

“A long way.” Fallon replied.

Peter hummed, then studied Fallon through narrowed eyes. “He should be up within three or four days.” He concluded finally. “Though he could be awake by tomorrow morning.” With that, Russell sagged with relief against the window, and Fallon smiled, looking far less tense than she had all day. “So, I assume the situation must be exceedingly dire for you to have come all this way.”

“Warlocks.” Russell put in. “They came into our territory and started kidnapping innocents for some sacrifice thing. The… Something about an eclipse. I didn’t pay much attention to Pops explaining that.” He shrugged. “Fallon?” He prompted sheepishly

“The blood of thirteen innocents spilled under an eclipse allows them to summon a demon, which, if they can bind it to their will, will grant them almost unlimited power.” Fallon recited, sounding as though she was quoting someone.

Peter looked highly amused. “Very good. Yes, that does sound like warlocks. But still. Why are you here?”

“The warlock said something about breaking our shattered pack.” Fallon told him. “Then he teleported… Ash followed him here, but we didn’t see him when we landed. Just…” She looked at Stiles and Scott, then shrugged.

“You have pack here?” Derek asked, frown deepening.

Fallon blinked, opened her mouth, then frowned and looked to Peter with a helpless expression on her face. Peter sighed. “Their pack is an old one, and it… has been related to the Hale pack for a very long time. I believe the warlock may think we are one and the same pack.” He explained carefully.

“Yeah?” Stiles prompted, arching an eyebrow. He didn’t like how carefully Peter was choosing his words, and he definitely didn’t trust him.

Peter smiled at him in that annoyingly enigmatic way he had, but it was Fallon who answered. “That’s actually… a really good way of explaining it.” She told him sheepishly. “It’s very complicated.” She added.

“So this warlock is coming after our pack.” Derek concluded.

Russell nodded. “No offence, but he’s probably going to go after Scott or- or Stiles first. If they’re trying to break away from the pack, their bond will be weakest, they’ll be the easiest ones to corner.”

“Great.” Scott grumbled.

“If you joined the pack properly, you wouldn’t be the target.” Derek pointed out.

“I don’t want to join your stupid pack!” Scott snapped back.

“Hey!” Russell snarled suddenly, making Scott jump. “Don’t you dare call the pack ‘stupid’ you uneducated moron.” He growled, and Stiles’ eyes widened at the vehemence in his tone. “Pack is a sacred bond. It keeps us whole, keeps us sane, keeps us human. Do you know why being omega is such a bad thing? It’s not just because you don’t have backup, fuckwit, it’s because you’re actually more likely to go fucking feral.”

“That’s enough.” Peter said calmly. Russell growled under his breath, but subsided.

“You sound like a hunter, calling werewolves feral like that.” Stiles said slowly, curiously.

Russell looked startled, staring at Stiles as though he was speaking another language. Peter started laughing into his knuckles. “Feral isn’t a term hunters came up with.” Derek explained gruffly. “It’s an actual condition. Werewolves… sometimes they loose their higher reasoning. They’re still… lucid, but they’re not really human anymore.” He explained, though he looked frustrated, as though he couldn’t find the right words.

“I was feral.” Peter interjected mildly. “Before my resurrection.”

“That was feral?” Stiles questioned.

Peter nodded. “Yes. I was still myself, but the better parts of me, the human parts of me, had been burned away. Quite literally.” He added, and Derek winced.

Stiles huffed out a sigh. “You know, we could have used this information, oh, I don’t know, six months ago?” He prompted irritably. “You can’t expect us to make smart decisions if we don’t have all the information.”

“I tried to tell you, but in case it slipped your notice, we’ve had a lot to deal with.” Derek shot back, glowering.

“And speaking of having a lot to deal with.” Peter interjected, drawing all eyes back to him. “Not only do we have a warlock targeting our pack, we also have the Alpha pack to worry about.” He reminded Derek.

“Aw, hell.” Russell groaned. “Really? An Alpha pack? How bad is it?”

“They let us know they were here, but they haven’t done anything yet.” Derek told him at once, glaring at Peter.

“But they will.” Peter said mildly.

“And when they do, we’ll deal with it.” Derek agreed firmly. “But for now, we need to let everyone know to be on their guard. I’ll call the pack.” He announced, already slipping his phone out of his pocket. “…Fallon? Would you mind coming and telling the pack everything you know about this warlock?”

“Why not just have the meet here?” Russell asked, then winced and glanced at Scott. “Sorry, I keep forgetting that Scott’s not part of the pack.”

“That’s alright.” Melissa waved him off. “Yes, you can meet here.”

Derek looked surprised. “Thank you.” He said, before turning to the door.

“Don’t forget Jackson and Lydia.” Peter called after him.

Derek turned back, surprised. “Lydia?” He echoed. Peter nodded. “You really think she’s going to want to step foot in the same house as you?” Derek demanded, glowering.

Peter sighed. “No, probably not. But she’s involved and she needs to be warned.” Derek looked annoyed still, but he nodded and left the room, leaving the others in silence. Stiles shifted uncomfortably and wondered if he should start talking to fill the quiet. Silence bothered him at the best of times, but these kinds of awkward silences made him twitchy in that way that had his dad wincing because it meant he was about to get himself into trouble.

“D-Alpha Hale doesn’t like you very much, does he?” Fallon asked hesitantly, stammering a little in her awkwardness. Stiles found that a little odd, because Fallon seemed more put together than that, usually.

Peter looked round at her in surprise. “No, I can’t say he does.” He agreed carefully, regarding Fallon with an odd look in his eyes. “I used to be his favourite uncle, but that was before the fire drove me feral and I killed his sister, bit someone without their consent, killed a lot of people, and ultimately drove him to killing me.”

Fallon winced. “I’ve heard about that, but… Doesn’t he realise it was because you were feral that you killed Laura?” She paused, but there was a sense that she was going to say more, so no one spoke. Stiles chanced a glance at Peter’s expression, and saw something strange on his face. A mix of curiosity, surprise, and hope. “You might be ruthless, but everyone in my pack holds you in good regard because you always put pack first.” Fallon said finally, choosing her words with care.

For a moment, Peter didn’t move, but then he smiled, and reached out to run a hand over Fallon’s hair. Stiles thought it was an odd, almost patronising gesture, especially as Peter had only known Fallon all of half an hour, but Fallon leaned into it, smiling. It was probably a wolf thing, Stiles decided, and made a mental note to ask someone or, more likely, research it later. “Thank you for that, Fallon.”


	3. Stiles

When the pack began to arrive, Scott suggested they wait downstairs. Fallon looked like she was about to protest, eyes immediately dropping to Ash, lying pale and still against the sheets. “I’ll stay with him.” Russell said at once, and Fallon looked up at him. “If I go down there I’m probably going to say something stupid, and one of us needs to stay with Ash, so I’ll stay.”

Fallon smiled and nodded. “Ok.” She agreed, then stepped over to give Russell a hug. “Keep him safe.” She requested, and Russell nodded, reaching for the staff he’d leaned up against the wall and holding it in a loose grip as Fallon stepped away and made for the door.

“A mountain ash staff?” Peter questioned, falling into step with her.

Fallon nodded. “Our Pops made it for Russell. It works on just about everything supernatural… except ghosts. He’s not a wolf, and he’s ok with that, and he’s not a mage, so he needed something to defend himself with” She explained with a shrug.

“Very innovative.” Peter complimented, smirking.

Stiles followed after them, a little baffled by the ease with which they were interacting. Scott and Derek both had been wary around her, and from what Stiles knew from his research, that was the normal reaction. A strange werewolf in a pack’s territory was cause for alarm and caution, especially if that werewolf was from an established pack. He wound back over the conversations of the afternoon, trying to find something that could point him in the right direction. “Hey, Scott…” Stiles began suddenly, and his best friend turned to look at him. He knew that Fallon and Peter, and Derek wherever he was in the house, would be listening in, so he didn’t even bother to be discrete. “You said they smelt familiar, right?”

Scott nodded slowly, not quite following Stiles’ train of thought. “Yeah.”

“And Peter sad they smelt like their parents, so…” Stiles trailed off pointedly but when Scott didn’t really pick up on his hint, he added. “Do you think you know their parents?”

Scott looked startled for a moment, and then frowned deeply in thought. “I think… maybe? I don’t know, it’s not… it’s not as clear cut as that, you know? I can tell, like, if you’ve been hanging out with Allison because I _know_ what you smell like, and I know what Allison smells like, but they’re… they’re new, and their scent is all tangled up with _pack_ and _familiar_ and I can’t pinpoint anything.” Scott rambled, frustrated.

The conversation had carried them down the stairs, and they stepped into the living room, where Derek was sitting, with Isaac hovering by his shoulder. Isaac looked concerned and nervous under a mask of cool caution that certainly didn’t fool Stiles. Peter didn’t look like he was fooled either as he stepped forwards to make introductions. “Isaac, this is Fallon. Fallon, Isaac.”

Fallon smiled warmly and held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Isaac.”

Isaac eyed her warily as he shook her hand. “Yeah.” He agreed. “You too.” He paused, shoving his hands into his pockets again and looking at everyone out of the corner of his eyes, before he spoke again. “Derek said something about a warlock?” He prompted.

“Lets wait until everyone’s here before going over everything again.” Peter suggested, and Isaac nodded, backing up a little.

They waited in silence for everyone else to arrive. Peter and Derek seemed perfectly at ease with the silence, but in Derek’s case at least, Stiles was pretty sure it was an act. He was deliberately projecting a calm and unconcerned air to keep the betas calm and unconcerned. It wasn’t really working. Isaac looked like he was caught between wanting to flee and wanting to pick a fight just for something to do. Scott was bristling, uncomfortable and bitter about being dragged into yet another pack problem. Stiles just didn’t like silence. Fallon was the most uncomfortable of the lot. Her eyes drifted from Derek to Stiles to Scott to Isaac and back again, looking rather sad and confused.

Finally, the doorbell went again, and Scott let Erica and Boyd in. Once again, Peter took it upon himself to make introductions. “Fallon, this is Erica and Boyd. You two, this is Fallon.” He introduced, sounding mildly bored.

“Hi.” Erica greeted, sizing Fallon up with a faint smirk.

Fallon smiled, but she looked a little more uncertain than she had with Isaac. Stiles didn’t blame her. Isaac might be violent bordering on sadistic, but to him it was a weapon only, and silence was his shield. For Erica, violence was both sword and shield. “Hello.” Fallon replied, eyes flicking between Erica and Boyd, who nodded to her.

Again, silence descended, and they waited. Finally, Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. “So, Fallon, how big is your pack?” He asked curiously.

Fallon looked thoughtful. “Um… There are twenty-five of us.” She said after a moment.

“Twenty-five?!” Stiles echoed with a yelp. “That’s huge!”

Fallon shrugged. “It’s not, really. Most werewolf packs are between fifteen and fifty wolves strong. The Cassidy pack in Oregon is counting… what? Forty-four now?” She questioned the room at large, tilting her head slightly in puzzlement.

“Forty-seven, last I heard.” Peter corrected mildly.

“Whoa.” Stiles muttered, eyes wide. “Does that make a difference?” He questioned suddenly. “I mean, you were saying earlier about omegas being more likely to go feral, but are there upsides to having a larger pack?”

“It’s not quite that simple.” Peter answered him. “A larger pack, by its very nature, is more likely to fracture. The more people involved, the more likely you are to encounter conflicts of personality, betas who rise to alpha merely by having the right personality type, or by being someone that a majority of the pack trusts to lead them.” He paused. “On the other hand, small packs lack a certain… stability to their pack bond, which results in either living in each other’s pockets, or, as has happened here, a neglect of the bond.”

Stiles thought that over, then nodded. “So, how many were in the Hale pack, before-… Never mind, forget I asked.” He began, and then changed tack with the speed of light when he saw Peter’s expression darken and Derek’s face shut down completely.

“Fourteen.” Fallon said quietly. “After the passing of Jacob Hale, there were fourteen members of the Hale pack.” She stated, eyes on the floor. “The Hales have always been a rather small, tight-knit pack. Their closeness was one of the reasons they were so revered in supernatural circles. That and they are well known for having some of the best alpha-lupa pairs in the country.”

Stiles was following along with that pretty well until that last little piece. “Alpha-what, sorry?” He questioned, baffled. “And Jacob Hale, was that your dad, Derek, or…?”

“My grandfather.” Derek replied stiffly. “My mother was alpha after him.”

“Oh, ok. And the… alpha-lupa thing? What does that mean?”

Derek didn’t seem to want to answer, and Fallon was just looking at him in complete surprise, like she has just assumed he would know this, so Stiles, irritably, turned to Peter for an explanation. Peter seemed highly amused, and gave Derek a pointed look. Huffing a dramatic sigh, Derek turned to look at Stiles. “An alpha-lupa pair are the leaders of a werewolf pack. You have the alpha, obviously, and the lupa is their… equal and opposite. The lupa is responsible for the day-to-day welfare of the pack.”

“Kind of like the Victorian mother to the alpha’s Victorian father.” Peter added.

Stiles frowned. “So… who’s your lupa?” Stiles asked.

Derek shrugged. “I don’t have one.”

“That doesn’t seem like it’s very conducive to a healthy pack.” Stiles replied, trying very hard not to think of how broken his own home felt without his mother.

Derek gave him a pissy look that had ceased to intimidate Stiles about a month ago. “And who would you suggest, huh? Erica?”

“Hah, no.” Erica said at once crossing her arms over her chest with a sneer.

“I would have suggested Stiles.” Peter remarked casually, but there was a glint in his eye that belied his mild tone. Stiles was a little too distracted to try and unravel what that particular expression meant. He was far too busy trying to process the bizarreness of Peter’s words to worry about his tone. Derek, too, looked stunned by his uncle’s pronouncement.

“I’m not even _pack_.” Stiles protested.

“Honestly, I sort of assumed that you were the lupa.” Fallon interjected, and now Peter was definitely smirking.

“ _Why_?” Stiles demanded, flailing a little for emphasis.

The look Fallon gave him was concerned and puzzled in equal measure. “It was the way you speak to- to Alpha Hale, mostly.” She told him slowly, as though she was thinking carefully about what she wanted to say. “You speak to him like an equal. You’re not afraid to speak your mind. You’re not… submissive, like betas or even sigmas usually are.”

“Scott’s not submissive either.” Stiles pointed out.

“Please.” Peter muttered, rolling his eyes. “There is a _huge_ difference.” He added, looking at Stiles like that should be obvious. “Scott might rail against Derek’s every word, but he does that precisely _because_ he sees Derek as an authority figure, albeit one he doesn’t like or respect all that much. His resistance only shows exactly how much his instinct is to submit.” Peter paused here, smirking and ignoring the offended look on Scott’s face. “You, on the other hand, Stiles, even when you were afraid, of Derek _and_ of me, you never, not _once_ , let us intimidate you.” He eyed Stiles up and down, which gave Stiles a distinct feeling of bad-touch. “You’ve got lupa written all over you.”

Stiles gaped at him, then turned to look at the others in the room. Scott was glaring at Peter mistrustfully, but Isaac and Erica and even Boyd looked… curious bordering on hopeful. It occurred to Stiles that the betas _needed_ a lupa, like it was a hole in their lives they didn’t even know was there until there was the potential for it to be filled. Not only that but for some bizarre reason they _wanted_ it to be _him_. Fallon had backed up, keeping out of the way of pack politics, Stiles guessed, but she had just the same expression on her face as the betas.

Finally, Stiles looked at Derek, who was watching him closely, almost glaring, but his eyebrows were doing the thing that told Stiles he wasn’t angry. Unfortunately, Stiles couldn’t read anything beyond that.

The doorbell rang, and Stiles sagged with relief. “I’ll get it!” He said quickly, departing the room at a near run. When he opened the front door, he found Lydia and Jackson on the doorstep and both of them looked pissed. Well, Jackson looked sulky, and Lydia looked cold, but it was close enough. “Hi Lydia. Jackson.” He greeted enthusiastically, holding the door open. “Come on in.”

They both gave him odd looks as they crossed the threshold and headed into the living room, and Stiles followed them, studiously ignoring the looks he was getting from Peter and Fallon. Derek was mercifully focused on Lydia and Jackson. “Thanks for coming.” He gritted out to Lydia, who arched an eyebrow at him disdainfully.

“You said someone might be trying to _kill_ her.” Jackson pointed out.

Derek sighed. “Well, now that everyone’s here-” He began, but was interrupted by a small noise from Fallon. She looked confused, but swiftly moved on to sheepish. “What?” Derek asked.

Fallon bit her lip, then spoke carefully. Stiles was getting really sick of that. “I was just wondering… what about the Argents?” She questioned. Everyone gave her startled or confused looks, particularly Scott, Derek and Peter, and she hurried on. “I mean, you have a truce with them, right? They’re the local hunters and all, they ought to be informed if there’s a rogue warlock running around.”

Stiles thought that actually sounded reasonable, not that he trusted Fallon particularly. Especially when he was quite sure that wasn’t what she’d wanted to say in the first place. He looked around at the rest of the pack, and saw that Scott, predictably, looked like he thought it was a good idea to talk to Allison. Lydia, Jackson and Isaac all seemed to agree with Fallon’s reasoning, but Erica and Boyd looked uncomfortable. Stiles didn’t really blame them after Allison had used Boyd as a human pincushion just last month.

It was Derek and Peter that Stiles was really curious about though. Derek looked like he’d swallowed a lemon whole, there was that much sour distaste on his face. Stiles had new sympathy for the man, because after digging into the case files of the Hale fire, Stiles had a pretty good idea just how Kate had gotten all her information about the Hales. Stiles would understand if Derek never wanted to see another Argent again.

But Peter was a different story. Peter had narrowed his eyes at Fallon, a calculating look in his eyes. Stiles would have merely assumed that Peter was picking up on the same thing he was, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Peter seemed to be in on whatever it was Fallon was hiding. Stiles glanced back at Fallon to see her meeting Peter’s gaze with raised eyebrows and a prompting expression.

“Alright.” Derek agreed grumpily. “Scott-” He began.

Scott was already pulling out his phone. “I’ll call Allison.” He agreed, nodding. Of course he had her on speed-dial, so seconds later, Scott was raising his mobile to his ear. Everyone shuffled their feet as they waited, but after a while, Scott frowned and hung up. “She’s not answering.” He stated, looking up at Stiles in concern.

“Try her home number.” Stiles suggested.

Scott nodded and went searching through his contacts, before raising it to his ear again. Moments later, Scott perked up. “Mr. Argent.” He greeted tentatively. “It’s Scott. I was j-“ Chris must have cut Scott off, and whatever he said, it wasn’t good by the way all the wolves stiffened. Stiles got his answer when Scott, eyes wide with alarm, yelped “Missing?!” A pause, and then. “I’ll help. I’ll be right ov-” Again, Scott got cut off by Chris. “We think there’s a warlock in town. Apparently he’s coming after the pack, but I don’t know why he’d take Allison…”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Perhaps because she’s bonded to _you_ , Scott?” He suggested dryly.

Scott’s eyes widened even more, and guilt flooded them. “Oh, crap. Well, look, maybe I can pick up a scent, so-…” Scott began, then pulled the phone away from his ear. Stiles was pretty sure Chris had hung up on him. “I’ve got to-”

“Whoa, take a couple of breaths, Scott.” Stiles advised, holding up his hands.

Scott did as he was told, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t unwind in the slightest. “I’ll come with you.” Fallon spoke up, stepping forwards. “It would probably be a good idea to have some more fighters, if we’re hunting this warlock. Peter?” She questioned hopefully.

Peter gave her a look that would have frozen fire. “Very well. And at least one of you lot.” He said, pointing at Isaac, Erica and Boyd.

“I want to check on my dad.” Stiles put in.

“We probably ought to make sure Danny’s ok, too.” Lydia interjected. “If this warlock is going to be going after our friends.”

Scott gritted his teeth. “My mom-” He began.

Derek got to his feet, and everyone automatically turned to look at him. “Boyd, go with Jackson to make sure Danny’s safe. Erica, you and Lydia stay with Mrs. McCall. There’s a warlock coming after our pack, and apparently, everyone who associates with us.” He explained quickly. “So stay alert.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Isaac, you go with Stiles-” He began, but Peter put a hand on his shoulder. Derek shot a glare at him, and Peter removed his hand at once.

“Why don’t _you_ go with Stiles, and Isaac can come with us.” Peter suggested mildly.

Derek scowled. “I should be going after this warlock-” He began.

“He is unlikely to stand and face us over a girl who isn’t even pack. It’s likely he’ll flee once we catch up with him. And it’s always a good idea to match temperaments when splitting into teams. Having you, Scott _and_ Chris Argent in one room is not something I’d like to get in the middle of.” Peter pointed out.

Stiles didn’t much like the idea of being alone with Derek, but he couldn’t deny that Peter had a point. “That sounds good.” He agreed, though he was pretty sure every wolf in the room detected the rise in his heart rate at the lie. “Scott and Isaac work well together.”

“Yeah.” Scott agreed, shooting a half-smile at Isaac, who responded with one of his own. “Stiles, can we take the jeep? Mom needs the car for work in a couple of hours.” Stiles nodded and tossed Scott the keys. Scott gave him a grateful look. “Let’s go.” He added, and dashed for the door. Heaving a sigh, Peter made to follow, gesturing for Fallon to join him. Isaac traipsed behind them. Almost right on their heels, Jackson and Boyd were heading for the door.

Stiles hesitated a moment. “Um, you two probably want to explain the situation to Melissa?” He suggested to Erica and Lydia. “Let her know where everyone’s gone?”

“Ok.” Erica nodded.

“Come on.” Derek growled from the doorway, and Stiles startled and nodded, hurrying after him. Outside, Derek unlocked the Camaro and slid into the driver’s seat, while Stiles tried to fit his gangly limbs into the passenger seat. He had to admit, the Camaro was just as nice inside as it was outside, and he took his time appreciating it, to delay the moment he’d have to talk to Derek.

Derek didn’t seem to be in the mood for talking, either, so half the ride to the police station passed in silence. Then, finally, Stiles got sick of the quiet and spoke. “So, Fallon.” He said eventually, because that was the only other thing on his mind besides the lupa issue, which he didn’t really want to touch at the moment.

Derek glanced across at Stiles, one eyebrow raised. “What about her?” He asked.

“Uh, she’s hiding something? And whatever that something is, Peter knows about it and is helping her hide it?” Stiles said, as if it should be obvious, which, really, it should have been. All those times the pair of them spoke so carefully, omitted details and Fallon’s hasty excuse about the Argents. “And what was her deal with the Argents? They definitely have _something_ to do with it, because Peter seemed kind of pissed that she’d brought them up.”

Derek stared out of the windshield, frowning thoughtfully. He looked a little irritated, too, but Stiles knew he did that to most everyone, so he didn’t let it bother him. “I don’t trust her.” He said eventually. “But I can’t think why she’d lie about the warlock.” He paused, and sighed. “And she’s telling the truth about our packs being connected, even if I’ve never heard about anything like that before. She – all three of them – they smell like… _home_.” Derek admitted, though his voice nearly broke on the last word.

Stiles looked at him in confusion and concern. “Home?” He questioned tentatively.

Derek sighed again, gripping the steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “When you spend time around people, their scent rubs off on you.” Derek began, voice tight. Stiles opened his mouth to tell Derek that yes, he already knew that, but Derek shot him a fierce look that made him snap his mouth shut. “But if you go a few days without seeing them, it’ll wear off. That’s not true when you _live_ with someone. Even if you went off for months, you’d still have your father’s smell on you. It’d take nearly a year for it to wear off.”

“Ok…” Stiles said slowly, nodding. “So, what does this have to do with Fallon?”

“Her scent reminds me of… of what my home used to smell like, before-…” Derek cut himself off and didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t need to. Stiles knew what he’d been going to say. He thought about it for a moment. “It’s not the _same_.” Derek continued, once he’d pulled himself together. “But, well… she smells like _Hale Pack_.”

“Peter said she smelled like her parents.” Stiles put in.

Derek nodded. “She probably does, if she still lives with them. Most wolves don’t really do the whole ‘moving out’ thing.” He stopped there, as though that was all he was going to say on the matter, but then he looked at Stiles, and huffed out another sigh. “Larger packs will usually own a lot of land, and have several houses near each other, like their own little village. Sometimes, if the pack fractures, they’ll even stay on the same land, with two alphas, but the newest one will defer to the older one.”

Stiles took this information and filed it away. He realised that this was Derek attempting to offer an olive branch of sorts, an apology for not being more forthcoming with information like this before hand. He couldn’t help but smile a little. “Was the Hale pack ever like that?” He asked.

Derek shook his head, but then cocked it to one side in thought. “I think we might be descended from a sub-pack, but if we are, the original pack is likely still in England.” He explained hesitantly. “Either way, it’s been hundreds of years since then, and the Hale pack has never grown big enough to fracture since.”

Stiles nodded slowly. “So, back to Fallon, you don’t recognise her parents’ scent?” He questioned.

Derek shrugged. “I can’t pick out the individual smells like that.”

Stiles frowned. “But Peter can?” He asked.

“Peter’s always had an exceptional sense of smell, even for a werewolf.” Derek replied. “He’s the only wolf I’ve ever known who could successfully describe a person’s scent to a human, so I’m not surprised he can pick out individual scents from a pack-scent.” He paused. “Most wolves can’t do that.” He added.

“Yeah, got that.” Stiles agreed absently. “So the pack-smell is familiar to you, though, like you know them, you just can’t sort out the individual scents to work out who they belong to?” He asked, checking he was getting it right. Derek just nodded. Stiles fell into silence again, letting his mind turn over all the possibilities. Unfortunately, he couldn’t entirely concentrate on Fallon when the hulking elephant in the car kept invading his thoughts. Finally, he gave up ignoring it. “So, that whole lupa thing.” He stated, and watched as Derek tensed up as though Stiles had just smacked him over the head. Slowly, Derek’s shoulders unwound, and he chanced a glance at Stiles in question. “You never really shot the idea down.” Stiles continued.

Derek frowned at the road. “Were you expecting me to?” He asked.

“I don’t know, kind of?” Stiles replied, also staring out of the windscreen, because he didn’t really want to look at Derek right now. He didn’t really know what else to say. He couldn’t really comprehend the idea that Derek – that _anyone_ – thought he’d be a good co-alpha.

“Peter wasn’t wrong.” Derek jumped in suddenly. “Even if you decide not to- become the lupa of my pack, you still have potential to be a lupa.” He muttered, sounding almost grumpy about it, or possibly he was just feeling self-conscious about his lack of eloquence. Stiles couldn’t tell.

Still, it drew a snort out of him all the same. “Dude, when on earth am I going to have the opportunity to join a different wolf-pack, let alone rise to co-alpha?” He questioned.

Derek shrugged, not looking at him. “You’d be surprised. As a human who knows about the supernatural, you’ll probably run into more than just wolf packs.” He told him. “If you go to Stanford, there’s a pack near there.” He added.

Stiles struggled to find words for a moment. Realising that other packs were actually a viable option, it suddenly shone light on the fact that, despite being Scott’s best friend, and agreeing to boycott their local pack, Stiles still thought of the pack as _his_. The thought of joining a different one was discomforting and unpleasant, even though he knew he never really wanted to leave the supernatural world behind. “Yeah, no.” He said eventually, not wanting to go into his thoughts right now. They were new and startling to him and he didn’t want to share them yet, least of all with Derek. He took a couple of calming breaths. “Wait, you said ‘if I chose not to be your lupa’.” Stiles stated, suddenly remembering. “Does that mean you’re seriously considering it?”

“You were right when you said a pack needs a lupa.” Derek said finally. “I can’t think of anyone better.”

“What about Boyd?”

“Wrong temperament.”

“Isaac?”

“Wants a mentor, not an equal.”

“What about- No, you know what, I’m not even going to _suggest_ Jackson.” Stiles stated, and Derek snorted in amusement, a wry twist to his lips. “Lydia?”

Derek looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. “You seriously think _Lydia_ and I would make a cohesive alpha-lupa pair?” He questioned incredulously. Stiles thought about it, then shrugged. Derek shook his head, half in denial, half in disbelief. “It wouldn’t work. It would be a constant fight for dominance, and it would upset the pack.”

“And we _don’t_ fight?” Stiles replied. “I thought Peter said that was one of the things that made me a _good_ lupa?” He questioned.

“It’s different.” Derek replied stubbornly.

“ _How_?” Stiles pressed.

Derek heaved an irritated sigh, and struggled to find the right words. “You- You call me out on my bullshit. Lydia would call me out on _everything_ , just to prove that she had the right. When I make a decision in a fight, I need to know that my lupa will follow my direction just like the betas, even if they don’t like it, and yell at me later. Can you see Lydia doing that if she’s technically been given the right to question my orders?”

Stiles shook his head. “To be fair, I’d probably do that, too.” He admitted.

“ _Whilst_ following my orders.” Derek interjected.

Stiles conceded with a nod. “You really think it could work?” He asked tentatively.

Derek didn’t answer for a moment, but then he nodded. “Yes. I think Scott and Jackson won’t like it, but I think it might just bring the pack together, like we should be.”

They pulled up in the police station parking lot, and Derek killed the engine. Stiles chewed on his lip in thought, and Derek was good enough to sit in silence while Stiles ordered his thoughts. Finally, Stiles blurted out “I’ll think about it, ok?” He promised, and Derek nodded solemnly. “Ok.” Stiles agreed, and got out of the car.

As he was rounding the hood on his way to get to the front door of the station, Derek got out and called his name. “Stiles.” Derek had his _serious eyebrows_ on, so Stiles slowed to a stop beside him and waited, frowning slightly. “You should know, that if you do decide to become my lupa, you’ll need to come with me to treat with the neighbouring packs. It’s customary for a new alpha to introduce themselves to their neighbours, and if they have a lupa, the lupa is expected to come along.”

Stiles nodded. “Ok.” He agreed.

Derek swallowed. “The other alphas will assume…” Stiles raised an eyebrow as Derek trailed off. “That we’re a mated pair.” Derek said finally.

Stiles made an unintelligible sound of pure shock, jerking backwards and staring, agog, at Derek. Said man did not look like he was joking. In fact, his expression was so serious it was bordering on pissed. “What- Why?” Stiles questioned.

“Alpha-lupa pairs usually are. It’s not- _necessary_ , but it’s… there isn’t really a word for it in human-speak.” Derek admitted, looking frustrated. “It’s more than just co-captains, or friendship. It’s a- it’s a lifelong partnership, whether it’s ever a _relationship_ or not. Most werewolves, there’s enough human in them that they can’t do that without making it a- a romantic relationship.”

“And you still think _I’m_ a good candidate?!” Stiles yelped.

Derek shrugged. “I’m not one of those werewolves.” He looked at Stiles with an angry-fierce sort of look in his eyes. “I don’t need to be sleeping with you to know that I can trust you.” He said finally, sounding just a touch defensive and angry, and Stiles gaped at him.

“Then why tell me?” Stiles questioned.

“You ought to know. Those sorts of assumptions would be a deal-breaker for some.” Derek pointed out, a strange expression on his face that Stiles thought, just maybe, could have been something like worry.

Stiles choked out a laugh. “Dude, you think it would _upset_ me that people would assume I was tapping that?” He questioned, waving a hand in the general direction of Derek’s torso. “It’s practically a _compliment_. Have you _seen_ yourself lately?” He asked.

Derek’s eyebrows did the ‘are you serious, Stiles?’ thing, which, yes, was different from his ‘are you serious?’ expression. The former had an extra touch of exasperation and incredulity to it, for one thing. “As long as you’re sure.” He said finally.

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded. “Really, not an issue. Still going to need to think about it, though.” He added, and Derek nodded, but didn’t seem to feel the need to say anything else. Wordlessly, they set off across the parking lot together, heading for the police station doors.


	4. Isaac

The Jeep was a little cramped with all of them in it, and there was an odd sort of tension swelling in the silence as Scott drove them – too fast to really be safe, but hey, they were werewolves – to the Argent’s house. Fallon and Peter were in the back, and despite the odd camaraderie Isaac had seen before, there was a new sort of wariness in Peter. Fallon, on the other hand, seemed relaxed, bordering on relief.

“So, um…” Isaac began, glancing into the rear view mirror to make sure no one was pissed off by his interruption of the silence. When no one growled, he carried on. “Can someone explain a little more to me about this warlock? And why he’s apparently going after Allison?”

Scott was the first one to pull his thoughts together. “It’s pretty much how Derek said. But, uh, basically, he’s gong after us because there are some bizarre ties between your pack and Fallon’s pack. And apparently, Fallon’s pack have pissed him off somehow.”

Fallon jumped in. “His coven was trying to summon a demon on our territory through human sacrifice. We tried to stop him.” She explained. “Our packs are actually very closely linked, and to a warlock, the bond between our packs could easily be mistaken as a pack bond. Our pack is… our bond is strong, we can sense when our packmates are in danger, we fight as a unit. We’re not very easy to take down, but…”

“We’re just about as easy as it gets.” Isaac concluded grimly.

Fallon nodded, looking apologetic. “Especially if Scott and Stiles are trying to break away from the pack. Your pack is already small, the upheaval of severing pack bonds could easily disrupt the rest of the pack.”

“Great.” Isaac muttered. “But what about Allison? I mean, she’s never been pack.”

Fallon bit her lip, looking like she didn’t know how to answer that. Finally, she shot a helpless look at Peter, who rolled his eyes and shot her an annoyed look. “She probably smells like Scott’s mate still.” He said casually.

Scott gave a little whimpering sound that was more canine than human. “But we’ve broken up.” He stated, sounding pained. “Why would she still-”

Peter rolled his eyes dramatically in that way he had that made Isaac feel all of about three inches high. “Because, you moron, you didn’t break up all that long ago.” He pointed out dryly. “It will take _at least_ a couple of months for the pair of you to stop smelling like you’re having sex with each other. It’s a ridiculously potent scent, you know.”

Scott flushed. “Really?”

Isaac nodded. “Yeah.”

“Sorry.”

Peter rolled his eyes yet again. “There is _really_ no need to apologise. It’s hardly _unpleasant_ , and as a wolf, one does have to get used to knowing who is sleeping with whom because they start smelling strongly of each other.” Peter pointed out.

“But how would the warlock know?” Isaac asked suddenly, frowning. “He doesn’t have that advanced sense of smell, does he?” He asked, directing the question into the backseat.

“No.” Fallon replied at once, shaking her head. “But as a magic user, he’ll be able to sense the bond between Allison and Scott. Wolves, and by extension, werewolves, are extremely faithful creatures. When they take a lover, it creates a bond that’s almost stronger than the average pack bond. It’s hard for a werewolf to be casual about sex, because the wolf instincts will automatically make any one night stand feel like _mate_.” She explained.

“However, it is possible.” Peter added mildly.

Fallon nodded. “If a werewolf already has a mate, someone both wolf and human instincts agree is _the one_ , the wolf doesn’t feel the need to latch onto any random partner.”

Isaac nodded slowly, blushing faintly. This sort of conversation was awkward enough, without having it with Creepy-Uncle-Peter and a rather attractive girl around his own age. It was small comfort that Scott looked just as uncomfortable as he felt. Isaac was distracted, however, by the hard, almost reprimanding look Peter shot Fallon after her last comment. He wanted to ask about it, but he didn’t dare, and a moment later they were pulling up outside the Argent house.

Scott was the first out, and he practically leapt over the hood of the car in his haste to get to the house. The rest of them followed him at a more reasonable pace, though they certainly didn’t dawdle. Scott banged on the door, and within seconds it had been flung open by a seriously pissed off Chris Argent, who was in the process of strapping on an arsenal. “She was taken from her room.” He said, without preamble, and stepped back to let them in, though he didn’t look happy about it in the slightest. He glared at Scott and Peter, though his gaze softened ever so slightly when it rested on Isaac, before sharpening right away into mistrust when he looked at Fallon. “Who’s this?” He asked.

Fallon held out her hand with a gentle, apologetic smile. “My name is Fallon. I’m sorry. The only reason the warlock went after your daughter was because of her – admittedly convoluted – ties to my pack.”

Chris glowered at her as he shook her hand. “How on earth is she tied to _your_ pack?” He demanded, though he did so while leading them upstairs.

“My pack has a very strong connection to the Hale Pack. Scott was, for a time, at least, part of that pack, and Allison was his mate. It’s a weak connection, but that’s probably exactly _why_ the warlock chose Allison.” Fallon explained. Chris’s face tightened at the word ‘mate’, and Scott flinched. Peter snorted. Chris turned a glare on Peter but didn’t say a word as he pushed Allison’s bedroom door open.

Isaac couldn’t help the startled sound that escaped him at the state of Allison’s room. It was in chaos. The mattress had half-slipped off her bed, with the sheets pooled on the floor. The bedside table was on it’s side, the draw half-out and spilling it’s content everywhere. The desk had been shoved a little, one end sticking out from the wall slightly, and almost everything that had been on it was on the floor. Books had fallen over on the shelves, a few of them on the floor, too, and the window was broken, glass on the floor inside, curtains fluttering. There was blood splattered on the wall and curtain, and some smeared across the windowsill and staining the sheets on the floor.

Peter and Scott both inhaled deeply. “It’s not Allison’s blood.” Peter said. Chris sagged with relief, and Scott nodded.

“It’s got to be the warlock’s.” Scott agreed.

Isaac spotted something and knelt by the bed, pushing the sheets aside and picking up a bloody knife. “There’s this.” He said dryly. “And her crossbow’s missing, too.” He pointed out, looking around at the mess.

Scott walked over to the window and stuck his head out. “It’s down there.” He said, pointing at the flowerbed below. He breathed deeply. “I think I can- yeah, they went round the back of the house, towards the preserve.” He stated.

“Of course.” Peter agreed, sounding almost bored by the predictability. Scott hopped onto the windowsill, and then leapt down into the garden. Peter was right behind him.

“If it’s alright with you, I’m gonna…use the back door.” Isaac decided, getting to his feet. Chris nodded sharply, turned on his heel, and left the room. Isaac shared a look with Fallon, who grimaced sympathetically as she followed Chris. “So, the warlock went after Allison because her bond is the weakest?” He questioned.

Fallon nodded. “It’s usually the best way to cripple a wolf-pack. When… when one pack-bond breaks or fractures it affects the rest of the pack, weakens their bonds. You go after the least integrated, the loners.”

Isaac nodded. “And he came after our pack because yours… doesn’t have loners?” He questioned.

Fallon tilted her head thoughtfully as they followed Chris into the kitchen and out through the back door. “Not really.” She said finally. “Even the ones who tend to go off on their own have at least one person that they have a strong bond with.”

Peter glanced over his shoulder at their approach. Scott was already on the other side of the fence, nose raised to catch the scent easer. Once he saw them, Peter hopped over the fence too. Chris leapt the fence without breaking stride, and Isaac let Fallon go first. The moment her feet hit the ground, her form shifted and blurred, until there was a huge, lean black wolf stood where she had been moments before with ice-blue eyes.

“Whoa!” Scott exclaimed. “How did you-?” He gasped out.

Peter gave him an incredulous look. “All werewolves can do that.” He stated in tired exasperation.

“I can’t!” Scott yelped.

Isaac hopped the fence. “To be fair, I can’t either.” He pointed out. “It’s not exactly easy.” He added dryly.

Peter sighed and nodded acceptingly, setting off into the woods, hands in his pockets. “And, to be fair, it is easier for born wolves. We tend to be more accepting of our wolfish side.” He mused, before stopping to sniff the air and readjusting his path a little.

“Erica did it first try.” Isaac told Scott. “But Boyd can’t do it at all, and when I tried, I got stuck. It took forever for Derek to calm me down enough to shift back.” He admitted sheepishly. “I haven’t really trusted myself to try it since.”

“Finding the balance between accepting the wolf, and not letting it take over is difficult. Erica succeeded because, to her, the wolf gave her _life_. Just as born wolves can’t imagine life without the wolf, neither can she. It’s the right mindset for the full shift. Boyd is far too afraid of his instincts, and Isaac relishes them too much.” Peter explained.

“Why haven’t I ever managed it?” Scott asked.

“Because you’ve never tried.” Peter answered bluntly. “Because you are fighting far too hard to reject your wolf for the possibility to even occur to you.” Fallon gave a little yip, and Peter glanced at her, then sighed. “Which, yes, is partially my fault. Those bitten without consent usually do have a lot of trouble accepting their heightened instincts, their animal nature.”

The conversation died, and Isaac felt the tension rise with every step they took. He had to wonder how on earth they were going to take on this warlock when they were one nasty word away from fighting amongst themselves. They crested a rise, and Fallon let out a surprised little sound that was almost a whine. Then she growled, hackles starting to rise. Isaac was baffled, and saw that Scott and Chris were too, although Chris had taken the cue for what it was, and drew his gun. “What is it?” He asked voice so low only werewolves would have been able to hear it.

Peter looked at Fallon, then looked around them. Then he gritted his teeth angrily. “I think our warlock friend may be using the old house as his… base.” He stated, eyes flashing icy blue for a moment. Chris arched an eyebrow, but nodded, and continued on through the forest. Peter sighed, eyes closed, then seemed to draw himself up and followed Chris. Scott and Isaac had no such issue with the old Hale house, and were hot on their heels.

It took Isaac a few paces to realise that Fallon wasn’t following. He looked back. “Fallon?” He questioned. The wolf remained rooted to the spot. Isaac raised his eyebrows, waiting to see what she would do next. Eventually, Fallon composed herself, and padded up to stand beside Isaac. She pressed into his leg for a moment, then settled into a comfortable walking pace at Isaac’s side, close enough that her fur brushed against his jeans with every step he took. Isaac wondered if she’d known any of the Hales from before the fire.

It still took them a while to reach the house, and Isaac had to wonder just how well Fallon knew these woods. It didn’t really match up to what he knew about her, but then, the whole situation was kind of weird, so he let it go. The house looked the same as ever, a burnt out black husk of abandoned building, but Fallon was brought to a sudden stop the moment they cleared the trees, and a low, distressed whine escaped her. Everyone glanced back, and she pulled herself together and padded up to join them again. Peter reached out and stroked her and she leaned into the touch for a moment.

“They’re not here anymore.” Isaac said, cocking his head to listen better. “Unless this warlock can hide the sound of his heartbeat.” He added as a proviso.

“It is possible, but if he was lax enough not to hide his scent, then I doubt he’d be putting any effort into hiding his heartbeat.” Peter pointed out dryly.

“Unless this is a trap.” Chris suggested.

Peter nodded his head in agreement, and considered the house. “Scott and I will go in the front. The rest of you, circle round to the back door.” He said, and Chris and Scott visibly bristled at the idea of taking orders from Peter.

However, Isaac was pretty sure it was their best plan. Scott and Peter were both ferocious fighters, while Chris was better as a marksman, and Fallon was, hopefully, an ace up their sleeve. Scott opened his mouth to protest, but Chris seemed like he understood the benefits of the plan, even if he didn’t like that it was Peter’s plan. Isaac jumped in before Scott could start a fight. “Makes sense to me.” He agreed.

Scott glanced at him, then slumped, looking resigned. “Yeah, ok.” He agreed in a grumble. Chris nodded once, sharply, and set off around the house without a word, silently gesturing for Isaac and Fallon to follow him. As they rounded the house, being careful to keep their steps silent, Isaac couldn’t help but notice that Fallon was having trouble keeping her eyes off the house. Her ears were flat against her skull in distress, and her whole posture screamed discomfort.

Once they were round the back, facing the collapsed back door, Isaac took a moment to smooth his hand over her head the way he’d seen Peter do. It felt a little weird, knowing it was a person, not a normal wolf, under his hand, but Fallon seemed to appreciate it. She turned and pressed her muzzle into his side, staying there for a moment, then drew back and seemed to draw herself up. Then, on silent feet, she padded into the ruined house.

Isaac could hear Scott and Peter in the front hall. They weren’t being subtle about their entrance either, which was, he supposed, the whole point. Chris followed Fallon into the house, every step instinctually measured for the least possible noise. Whatever noise he did make was easily covered up by the sound of Scott and Peter tramping through the lower floor.

“The scent leads to the basement.” Peter said as Isaac stepped into the house, loud enough for even Chris to hear. Said man grimaced, picking up a little speed as he stepped through a door and turned a corner out of Isaac’s sight. Isaac followed and found himself standing with Chris and Peter at the top of a sturdy but charred flight of stairs. The door that stood between the tiny landing at the top of the stairs and where they were standing was wide open. Scott was at the bottom of the stairs, looking around carefully.

“They were definitely down here.” Scott called up to them. “There’s more of the warlock’s blood on this broken table, and- and some of Allison’s on the floor. Not much.” He added hastily. “What’s- _Ohmygod_.” Scott yelped, and Isaac tensed, ready to fly down the stairs if Scott was in any kind of trouble.

“What?” Chris barked.

“It’s-” Scott began, faltered, and stopped. “Nothing.” He said finally.

Chris huffed a sigh, glanced at Isaac, then waved for him to go check on Scott. Isaac nodded and bounded down the stairs. He stopped three from the bottom and looked around. The scent of ash was strong here, probably because it covered nearly every surface. The far end of the basement had caved in, wooden beams and rubble mixed in with earth and roots. Isaac looked for Scott, and found him looking at an open door that seemed to lead into some kind of tunnel. Against the wall just beyond door was a sooty outline of a child.

“Oh.” Isaac breathed out.

Scott looked round with a grimace. He looked a little nauseous, and Isaac could understand why. “The scent leads down there.” Scott said at normal volume. “I think Allison tried to escape when he took her that way.”

Isaac looked at the tunnel with a grimace. “I am not going down there.” He said firmly. “And Peter won’t even come into the basement, so…”

“I do know where that tunnel ends.” Peter said from the top of the stairs, attempting to sound dry, but really only managing tense and snippy. “If Scott and Chris go down the tunnel to make sure the warlock doesn’t backtrack, the rest of us can go over the surface.” It sounded very reasonable and even though Scott looked like he had a sour taste in his mouth, he nodded when Isaac looked at him for his opinion.

“Alright.” Chris said.

“I’ll go with them.” Fallon said, and Isaac looked behind him, back up the stairs, and saw her standing there in human form beside Chris and Peter. She looked paler than before, and stood hunched in on herself.

“No.” Peter said in a tone that brooked no argument. Isaac’s eyebrows rose.

Fallon set her jaw in a stubborn fashion and her chin kicked up a notch, eyes flashing with defiance. “Those tunnels are unstable, right?” She checked, sounding perfectly calm and mild. “Mr. Argent might be a hunter, but he’s human. If there’s a cave in, it’ll take more than Scott to get him out of there.” She said pointedly. Isaac saw Chris grit his teeth, but surprisingly, it was nothing to the fury that flashed through Peter’s eyes.

“Chris is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. You, on the other hand…” Peter trailed off pointedly, venom in his tone.

“I’m a werewolf. If I can survive having half my lungs ripped out, a few rocks on my head isn’t going to kill me.” Fallon said, still sounding perfectly reasonable. She reached out and put a hand on Peter’s arm.

Isaac thought Peter was going to rip the limb off for a moment, but he didn’t, instead, he managed to scrape together his usual composure. “Your parents will never forgive me if something happens to you.” He pointed out.

Fallon smiled. “I know someone who would never forgive me if I didn’t go.” She replied cryptically.

Peter snorted. “You know someone who worries that much about _Chris Argent_?” He questioned, one eyebrow arched and a very unimpressed expression on his face.

Fallon’s smile became a grin. “I do.” She replied cheerfully.

Peter rolled his eyes dramatically. “Fine. Come along, Isaac.” He called as he turned and walked away. Isaac bounded up the stairs, a little baffled by the fond expression on Fallon’s face. As he walked out of the house, he heard Fallon and Chris join Scott in the basement. Fallon made a quiet sound of dismay, Isaac presumed, at the stark reminder of the deaths that haunted that house, and then they were moving off down the tunnel.

Isaac kept an ear on their heartbeats as he followed Peter through the forest, which were almost exactly right beneath him. A lot of questions were filling up Isaac’s head, but he was well practiced at keeping his mouth shut. Peter was intimidating at the best of times, and Isaac didn’t want to poke at whatever self-control he had.

Peter glanced over his shoulder at Isaac, then rolled his eyes. “What?” He asked impatiently. Isaac made a startled sound and blinked at Peter. “You’re itching to ask me something, so ask. Whatever it is, it can’t be any more annoying than the tension you’re giving off.”

Isaac curled in on himself a little, and shrugged carelessly. “I was just wondering… that was a pretty strong reaction you had to Fallon going down the tunnel. I mean, you were fine with Scott or Chris going, but not Fallon…?” He questioned tentatively.

There was a moment of silence that stretched on long enough for Isaac to wonder if Peter was going to answer his question at all. Then, Peter sighed. “How much do you know about the fire?” He asked mildly.

Isaac stared at the back of Peter’s head in surprise. “Uh, not much.” He said finally. “Derek said it was hunters.” He offered up with a slight grimace.

“It was Kate Argent.” Peter stated harshly, and Isaac sucked in a breath. “And a few accomplices. They surrounded the house in mountain ash before they set the fire. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what that means.” Peter added, and Isaac just shook his head wordlessly, feeling nauseous. “That tunnel in the basement, that was there for exactly that circumstance. When the hunters come knocking, our parents would tell us, go to the basement, follow the tunnels, and _run_.” Peter explained. “The mountain ash blocked the tunnels, though, and we burned.”

Isaac swallowed. “That… um… doesn’t explain why- I mean, I get not caring about Argent, but Scott…” He trailed off awkwardly, unsure if he was pushing too hard.

“I wasn’t done.” Peter told him coolly, and Isaac clamped his mouth shut. “The fire weakened the structure of the house, and the entrance of one of the tunnels collapsed. I was half way down it at the time, trying to use my limited magic to break through the mountain ash barrier.” He continued, voice distinctly brittle. “The cave in disrupted the mountain ash, so I was able to drag my burning body out of the debris.” He stopped here for a long moment, but Isaac didn’t speak again, just in case Peter was going to say more. As it turned out, he was. “My daughter wasn’t so lucky.” He finished, voice cracking.

“Oh.” Isaac breathed. He’d had no idea that Peter had been a father, but hearing about his daughter reminded him what Peter had lost to the fire. It still wasn’t an answer to Isaac’s question, but after hearing that, he wasn’t really in the mood to push.

Thankfully, Peter continued once he had his voice under control again. “Fallon’s father is as good as family to me. I don’t want to loose anyone else to those tunnels.” He stated calmly. Isaac nodded to himself, but stayed quiet. The rest of the trek passed in absolute silence, until eventually they came to a slope where the tunnel came out from behind a very conveniently placed rock formation. Fallon immediately came up beside Peter and he wrapped an arm around her in a pseudo-hug. But that was the extent of emotion he showed, and as he released her he sniffed the air and set off again without a word.

Isaac fell into step beside Scott, who looked pale and shaken. “I didn’t know.” He said quietly, more as a signal of who he was talking to than because he thought Peter wouldn’t hear.

“Me neither.” Isaac agreed simply. Then he caught sight of the tight expression on Chris Argent’s face, the look in his eyes. “You did, though.” He said, more voicing thoughts out loud than actually speaking to Chris. The man shot him a sideways look, but nodded without a word.

Peter drew to a halt up ahead and held up a hand. The rest of them all jolted to a stop. “We’re close. I can smell him.” He said in a barely audible whisper. Isaac breathed deeply, and thought he caught a hint of Allison’s scent that wasn’t the stale scent of the trail.

Chris drew his gun with one hand. With the other, he held a finger to his lips, looking from Scott to Isaac to Fallon to make sure they all got the message. Then he made a series of gestures that Isaac only understood because Camden had enjoyed teaching his baby bro about his time in the military. Scott looked baffled, but Fallon obeyed without hesitating, fanning out as Chris had directed. “Spread out.” Isaac breathed, so low only a werewolf would pick it up. “Close in on the target. Keep visual contact.”

“Oh, right.” Scott breathed back, and did as he was told. Isaac saw Peter rolling his eyes dramatically.

From then on, nobody spoke as they spread out and crept through the forest. Within moments, Isaac could hear the slow and steady heartbeat of the warlock, and the slightly faster, but equally steady beat of Allison’s heart. It was another couple of yards before Scott perked up like an overeager puppy, letting Isaac know that he could hear her heartbeat too.


	5. Isaac

Crouched behind a wide tree surrounded by a tangle of weeds and tall grass, Isaac has a pretty good view of the clearing without risking being spotted himself. He could see Chris and Fallon in his periphery, both of them hunkered down as hidden as they can get, too, but it was what was going on in the clearing that held his attention.

There was a tree in the center of it. A massive tree. Isaac wouldn’t even risk guessing at the diameter of the trunk, but it was big. And kind of squat, because it didn’t actually tower over the rest of the trees like he expected. The branches seemed to grow out instead of up, because there wasn’t a single part of the clearing floor that managed to catch direct sunlight; it was all dappled across the grass and wildflowers on the floor of the clearing.

Allison was tied to the tree. She looked somewhere between pissed and scared, her hands tied awkwardly above her head and there was thick rope across her stomach, tying her to the tree. There was a bruise blooming on the side of her face, from her cheek bone up over her temple and edging onto her forehead, and there was a small cut on her throat.

Kneeling at her feet was a man that Isaac could only assume was the warlock. He looked plain, slight and dressed smart-casual, with short brown hair. He was mumbling under his breath in a melodic language Isaac was unfamiliar with, but it was causing the air around him to shimmer like he was sitting in the middle of a heat haze. “That’s not good…” Fallon whispered, so quietly under her breath that Isaac barely heard her.

Allison thrashed against her bonds, her teeth gritted against a combination of anger and pain. “What do you want with me?” She demanded of the warlock, still straining in an attempt to get her wrists loose. The warlock didn’t respond. “Answer me!” Allison snapped, sounding terrifyingly like her mother for a moment.

The warlock raised his head. “It’s nothing personal. I just need you out of the way before you can cause me any trouble.” He paused, making a little disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “You’re an incredible woman, you know. I’ll never understand why you choose to lie with _dogs_.”

Allison sent the warlock a burning look, a dark smirk curling her lips as she kicked her chin up a notch. “Maybe I’m just kinky that way.” She shot back, fierce. Isaac had to smother a laugh in the sleeve of his jacket. Off on his right, Fallon shot him an amused glance.

“Disgusting.” The warlock spat out, getting to his feet.

“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” Allison retorted. The warlock didn’t deign to respond to that, instead spreading his arms wide and beginning to chant again. This time however, Isaac recognised the language as Latin.

Gunshots rang out, three in quick succession. The only reason Isaac saw what happened next was thanks to his advanced werewolf vision. The shimmering haze around the warlock rippled more violently, and the bullets _disintegrated_ as they hit whatever force-field surrounded him. Chris cursed, and Scott was a blur as he charged into the clearing, aiming for Allison.

The warlock flung out an arm, and Scott was flung off his feet, slamming into a tree hard enough to break bones, even if they knitted themselves back together within seconds. “Scott!” Allison yelled, half surprised, half worried. Chris fired off a few more shots, and the warlock spoke a few words of Latin, and the bullets dropped from midair. Isaac leapt to his feet and darted in, keeping low. The warlock turned to glare at him, and the effect sent a shudder down Isaac’s spine, because the whites of the man’s eyes had turned entirely black, the watery brown colour of his eyes looking oddly light and ethereal against the black.

When the warlock spoke more Latin and thrust his hand like a spear in Isaac’s direction, he rolled to the side. He felt something knock his hip and winced as he came up kneeling. He didn’t allow himself time to recover; he knew his healing would kick in on the move. Instead, he lunged for the warlock, and managed to dig his claws into the meat of his hip, before the warlock clenched his hand and Isaac’s throat locked shut like someone had a hand around his neck.

The look the warlock gave him was pure poison. There was a snarl from behind him, and he was forced to let Isaac go to deal with Scott, who swiped his claws across the man’s back. Then he was being flung away again. Isaac used the time to scramble back and catch his breath. The warlock laughed and he turned to survey the clearing. “I’m impressed.” He snarled, and he was smirking, but his eyes were cold. “I was expecting the hunter, but not the rest of you.”

Isaac snarled and lurched to his feet, using the momentum to lunge at the warlock again. The warlock rolled his eyes and held up a hand. Isaac slammed face first into an invisible wall and felt his nose break. He reeled backwards, teeth bared in a vicious snarl through the blood. The warlock suddenly stumbled forwards, and Isaac saw the flights of a crossbow bolt sticking out of the back of his shoulder. The warlock spun, gesturing and spitting out a curse in Latin, and a couple of trees groaned and collapsed.

There was a soft crunch as Isaac’s nose healed, and he sprang at the warlock again while he was distracted. The warlock ducked out of the way, and when Isaac landed, he held his hand out, palm down, and Isaac was pressed to the ground. Scott leapt at him, and the warlock didn’t even bother to gesture, he just spoke a quiet line of some strange language, and Scott ended up in the exact same position as Isaac. “Wait your turn.” The warlock told Scott, tutting.

He turned back to Isaac, looking curious. “Look at you. Why are you even here? You have no idea what’s coming for you, do you?” He mused. He crouched down in front of Isaac and tilted his head. “This girl barely means anything to you. I can see just how feeble your bond is. Why do you fight so hard for her?”

“Maybe I just really want to feel your bones breaking between my teeth.” Isaac ground out, even though it was hard to breathe with the invisible pressure pinning him down.

The warlock made a disgusted sound as he got to his feet again, looming over Isaac, who bared his teeth at him. “Some things will never change.” The warlock sighed, and Isaac felt a spike of fear as he began what sounded like a rather complicated chant. Before he could complete it, however, there was a snarl, and the warlock was forced to turn and deal with Fallon. The pressure on Scott and Isaac eased up with the warlock distracted, and they managed to get to their knees.

“You!” The warlock snarled, sounding surprised. “You must be that wolf.” He decided, jerking backwards as Fallon swiped a clawed hand at his chest. He began to gesture in the air, probably working up to a spell, but he never completed it, because Fallon snapped her wolfish teeth at his arm, and the warlock was forced to break off mid-spell. “I’m surprised your little pet mage had the power to bring you here.” The warlock taunted, but he was on the defensive now. Fallon didn’t bother to respond, just gave the warlock a look that would have set ice on fire and attacked him with a ruthless kind of precision.

Fallon seemed to have some practice fighting magic users, because she was getting thrown around a lot less than Scott and Isaac. The trick, Isaac decided as he watched them, was to keep within close range, move a lot, and attack whenever the warlock started a chant. When he had his breath back, Isaac leapt to his feet to help, Scott a couple of seconds behind him.

They had barely moved into the fight again when a howl sounded through the woods. Isaac only just managed to recognise it as Peter before the sound died to an echo. Scott looked both alarmed and confused, but Fallon was grinning. She tipped her head back and howled a response, apparently uncaring that she was human. The howl was all wolf, though, which should have been impossible for human vocal chords. Isaac had never had the courage to try howling in human form, but apparently it still worked. The wonders of being a werewolf.

The warlock’s eyes went wide, and he looked over to the tree. Isaac looked too, and couldn’t bite back the wickedly sharp grin that unfurled over his face. Allison was gone, the ropes hanging in tatters. The warlock turned back to them, eyes almost glowing black with the rage in them. Isaac braced himself, but the warlock merely chanted a quick phrase in Latin and disappeared.

Fallon turned and began jogging towards where Peter’s howl had originated from.

“What was that?” Scott asked, falling into step beside Fallon. Fallon looked at him in confusion as Isaac caught up. “That howl. I mean, I thought it was just to tell your pack where you are?” He questioned.

Fallon shook her head, smiling brightly. “It kind of is, but you can tell a lot by a wolf’s howl. It’s a song, Scott, and they have tones just like human voices have tones.” She explained. “Peter was telling us that he had Allison. That we’d won, and it was safe to come home. I was telling him I’d heard him and we were coming.”

A moment later, they reached Peter, who was standing a little apart from Allison, who was tucked under her father’s arm. Scott went straight to her, ignoring Chris’s scowl, and started fussing. Isaac couldn’t help but think that Allison’s smile as she reassured him was strained, fake. Fallon walked over to Peter and hugged him, and Peter smoothed a hand over her hair. Isaac tucked his hands into his pockets and let tried to wind down.

The fight had left him feeling a little jittery, if he was honest. Too much adrenalin buzzing under his skin, encouraging the wolf, and the animalistic desire to taste blood on his tongue. Isaac bit it back, because the fight was over now, his body just hadn’t got the memo yet. Shifting uncomfortably, Isaac glanced around at the others again. Scott had backed off, looking like a kicked puppy, but clearly trying not to, Chris and Peter were talking some kind of battle logistics that went right over Isaac’s head, but Allison looked like she understood every word.

Fallon was watching him, and Isaac recoiled in surprise when he accidentally caught her eye. She curled away from Peter, who let her go without even looking at her, and she padded over to Isaac. “Want to go for a run?” She offered tentatively.

“What?” Isaac asked eloquently, wincing slightly.

Fallon shrugged “You look kind of… tense.” She told him, and Isaac hunched a little more. “My uncle gets like that after a fight, too. Bloodlusty.” At that word, Isaac saw Chris shoot them a wary look out of the corner of his eye. “My uncle likes to hunt to work it off, but seeing as you can’t do the full shift yet, that might be a little awkward… so… do you want to go for a run?” She offered again, shrugging.

Isaac nodded without really thinking. It sounded like such a good idea. “Yeah, sounds good.” He breathed out, and Fallon smiled warmly at him.

“You kids have fun.” Peter mocked.

Fallon waved to him over her shoulder as she set off into the woods, Isaac close behind. She shot Isaac a playful smile, and then she was off, running at what would have been a full sprint for a human, but for a werewolf was a close equivalent to a wolf’s lope; they could keep it up for hours if they needed to. Isaac swiftly followed her lead, falling into the steady rhythm, only breaking stride to duck low-hanging tree branches or jump over ditches.

It almost felt like he was chasing Fallon, and the goal along with the movement and exertion, soothed that itch inside him. Isaac decided that he would have to remember to do this more often after a fight. It was much better than the one-sided smack-down against Derek that inevitably ensued whenever he got too vicious.

They ran until the sun was sinking behind the horizon. Only then did Fallon finally skid to a stop and throw herself down to flop on the grass beside a tiny little brook. Isaac jogged to a stop beside her and leant up against a tree, breathing hard and grinning widely. Fallon glanced at him, also grinning, and let out a delighted peal of laughter. “Oh, that was brilliant.” She breathed happily. “I needed that.”

“Yeah?” Isaac prompted, sinking down to sit at the base of the tree, legs stretched out and head thumping back against the bark.

Fallon turned her head to look at him. “Yeah.” She replied, a little of her merriment fading. “I- We weren’t expecting to come here, you know. Ash was meant to be waiting at home with Di and Zach and Roxie. But we were getting our asses kicked, and he wanted to help. He- _We all_ just wanted to- to keep our family safe, and then suddenly, we’re so far away from home, in a strange place with strange people who don’t trust us, who we’re trying to save from an enemy we know basically nothing about, and all the while, I can’t stop thinking about the battlefield we left behind and- and my parents are out there, my _grandparents_ , my cousins- god, Zach and Roxie are only _eight_ , and they- There’s so much riding on us right now. We need to beat this guy, but there’s only three of us, and Ash- he’s the most powerful of us, but he’s out cold, and anyway, he and Russell always look to me for answers because I’m the oldest. When Dad retires, _I’ll_ be the Alpha, so of course they look to me for direction, but I- god, I’m still in _college_ , I have no idea what I’m doing!”

Isaac took all that in with nothing more than the occasional nod to show he was listening. He turned it over for a while, tried to imagine what it would be like in Fallon’s place. “Derek’s the same, you know.” He said finally.

Fallon looked stunned. “What?” She asked, propping herself up on her elbows.

“Derek’s the same. Most of the time, I don’t think he has any idea what he’s doing. It makes it kind of hard to talk to him, sometimes, because he refuses to admit it, but he’s just as out of his depth as the rest of us.” Isaac gave a rueful smile. “Ironically, that makes me feel better.”

Fallon whined, a very canine sound to indicate her confusion. “How could that possibly make you feel better?” She asked.

Isaac shrugged. “It- it reminds me that it’s not just me. I’m- I trust Derek. He’s always been good to me, and Erica and Boyd, and tried to do right by us. I don’t need him to convince me to trust him, because I already do. I just need to know that I’m not weird or weak because this stuff is so far beyond what I can handle.”

For a long time, Fallon didn’t say a word. She just sat there, eyes glazed as she thought. “I guess… I guess it’s different for me. My Dad- My Pops, too, they’re both so… so confident. They know what they’re doing and they know how to handle it, which means I don’t have to.”

“I guess they’ve just been at it longer. It’s one of those things you can’t just be good at right away. It takes practice.” Isaac mused.

Fallon grimaced. “If that’s true, I don’t want to think about how much my parents must have gone through to get to where they are now.”

Isaac nodded his sympathy, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence. “So, um… I don’t want to pry, but… you have two dads?” He questioned tentatively. He knew it could easily be a sensitive subject, so he almost hadn’t asked, but he was curious about this girl. There was so much mystery around her and her brothers – Isaac was assuming based on what she’d said, but he supposed they could be cousins – that a chance to learn more was very difficult to pass up.

“Mm.” Fallon agreed absently, before rolling onto her side to look at Isaac while she spoke. “My Dad is the alpha, my Pops is the lupa, and our emissary. He’s a mage and a druid, and he also dabbles in witchcraft.”

“Wow.” Isaac muttered. “That’s a lot.”

“He has trouble focusing unless it’s on four things at once.” Fallon explained.

Isaac smirked. “Sounds like Stiles.” He mused. “I swear, watching him do homework is like trying to watch a five-way tennis match.” Fallon snorted with laughter, and buried her face in her elbow to muffle her chuckling. Isaac grinned a little lopsidedly, and waited for her giggles to subside before he asked his next question. “What- what’s it like, being part of such a big pack?”

Fallon considered him a moment with a small, thoughtful frown on her face. “It’s… rarely quiet.” She said finally, with a chuckle. “Most of the pack live about five or ten minutes walk away, so they usually convene at the main house in the afternoons, after work and school and such. There’s _always_ someone around, so you never get lonely.”

“Sounds nice.” Isaac mumbled into his arm.

“It is, even if people grate on your nerves sometimes. We’re _pack_ , so we’ve always got each other’s backs, no matter how irritating people might be.” Fallon replied. She gave Isaac a sympathetic look when Isaac just sank down a little lower behind his arm. Fallon’s pack sounded wonderful, and Isaac found himself wishing that his own wasn’t quite so broken. “If it makes you feel any better, your pack is pretty new, right?” Isaac nodded mutely. “Well, it always takes a while for packs to settle around a new member. New packs completely? That’s going to take a while to sort itself out, and it doesn’t help that you’ve got all this drama going on in the meantime.”

“Yeah.” Isaac agreed with a sigh. “Beacon Hills, magnet for the supernatural and insane.”

Fallon chuckled. “Beacon Hills _is_ prime real estate for the supernatural, so it’s not surprising that everything and it’s grandma wants to get a piece of it.”

Isaac blinked at her, raising his head in surprise. “It is?”

“There’s a convergence of leylines here, like, seven of them. It’s _hugely_ magically powerful.” Fallon explained, rolling onto her back again and stretching out, arms above her head. “That tree that the warlock had Allison tied to? That’s where they meet to make the leygate. There’s an infinite well of magical power inside the earth, and usually, it’s inaccessible, but at a leygate, if a magic user has the right key, they can access that power.”

“What’s the key?” Isaac asked.

“Sacrifice.” Fallon replied.

“Sacrifice?” Isaac echoed tentatively, his mind going to some very dark places. “Like…?”

“In order to gain something, you must first give something in exchange.” Fallon explained. “A lot of dark magic-users would probably make a human sacrifice, spill the blood over the tree. But there are better ways. Even just doing something like spending the night there, sacrificing your time, will get you a power boost. The more you give to the tree, the more you get in return.”

Isaac let that sink in. “Sounds kinda dodgy.” He admitted finally.

Fallon chuckled. “Of course, it’d be different for any magic users in your pack, like Peter.” She added.

“Different how?” Isaac asked, then did a double-take. “Wait, Peter’s magic?”

Fallon glanced at him in surprise. Her eyes were glowing blue to help her see in the dark, and Isaac realised that his own were glowing gold and he hadn’t even noticed. “Not very, not like Ash is, but yes, he has a spark.” She told him. “And it’s different because this is your territory. You’re protectors of the land, and in return, the tree – the leygate – will protect you. It’s the heart of Beacon Hills, and if you take care of it, keep the malicious monsters out, it will take care of you.”

“How?” Isaac asked.

“Why do you think the Hales have- had such a strong, stable pack bond? Why Talia was one of the most feared and respected alphas in the states? Why even just one Hale managed to get out of a house ringed with mountain ash?” Fallon questioned pointedly.

Isaac tipped his head in acknowledgement. “We should probably be getting back.” He said, a touch reluctant. Fallon nodded and rolled to her feet, Isaac lurched up to join her, and he let her lead the way back through the woods. He was a little surprised to find that they came out in the Argent’s back yard within half an hour. For how long they’d been running, Isaac hadn’t expected it. He realised Fallon must have led him in a great big circle, or there about.

They hopped the fence, and Fallon knocked on the back door. They were greeted a few moments later by Allison, who smiled her Disney Princess smile as she opened the door and let them in. “You must be Fallon, right?” Allison checked, and Fallon nodded.

“And you’re Allison.” Fallon replied. “I’m glad you’re ok.” She added.

“Thanks to you.” Allison reminded her, then glanced at Isaac as if to include him in her thanks. Isaac hunched his shoulders a little, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “Dad and- and Peter filled me in.” She continued, her tone going cold as she said Peter’s name.

“Where’s Scott?” Isaac asked.

“Derek called, asked him to watch Stiles and his dad tonight.” Allison told him, and Isaac nodded. That made more sense than Derek lurking on their roof all night, at least. Allison waved them into the living room, where Chris was nursing a glass of whiskey where he was sat on the couch and Peter was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest and expression bland. Isaac stopped in the doorway, unwilling to walk into the wall of stifling tension that filled the room. Allison dropped into the seat opposite her dad, and Fallon leaned her hip against the arm of the sofa.

“You’re back.” Chris said, sounding almost relieved. “Now take _that_ and get out of my house before I shoot it.” He ordered, uncurling one finger from around his glass to point at Peter.

Peter shot Chris a scathing look. “There’s no need to be rude. Believe me, I didn’t want to stay, but with that warlock running around, it’s really not a good idea for people to be on their own, particularly human people.” He explained, a mocking smile on his lips.

Chris’s free hand flexed like he was longing for a weapon. “Do not assume that just because I’m human, I’m fragile. Now get out, or I will shoot you, and I won’t be using the ordinary bullets.”

“I wasn’t actually talking about _you_ , Chris.” Peter pointed out, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “But I’m sure you’re right and we won’t have to plan another rescue mission in the morning.” He mocked, sarcasm all but dripping off his words.

Chris surged to his feet, and the look on his face was one of such tightly controlled fury that Isaac actually took a step back. He had a feeling there was only so long this could go on before the situation exploded, and he didn’t want to get caught up in the fallout. Allison was looking warily between her father and Peter, but it was nothing on the alarmed confusion on Fallon’s face. Chris gave a smile that was full of bitter rage and restraint worn thin. “Because Allison will be so much safer with a _werewolf_ in the house.” He spat out darkly.

Peter rolled his eyes, his face a picture of disgust. “Oh, please. This isn’t about Allison’s safety, it’s about your own pride and-” Peter never got to finish, because Chris lunged at him and actually managed to pin the werewolf to the wall with a loud thud that set the framed pictures around the room rattling. Isaac jumped, flinching backwards, and Allison leapt to her feet

“ _Don’t_ you _dare_ -” Chris began, pressing Peter to the wall hard enough for Isaac to hear Peter’s collarbones grinding. Peter’s eyes were wide in complete shock and though he had one hand on Chris’s wrist, his grip was lax, not even attempting to pry the furious hunter off him. “ _Don’t you dare_ suggest that there is anything – _anything_ – I would put above _my daughter’s safety_.” He snarled. “I’ve lost _everything_ else, and I _won’t_ loose her too. I would sooner see Beacon Hills in ashes that let any harm come to her!”

The silence that swelled after that pronouncement was an almost physical force, pressing down on even the idea of coming up with something to say. Isaac was coiled tight, on the very edge of that old fight-or-flight instinct, ready and poised to do one or the other at a moment’s notice. Peter’s face was terrifyingly blank and for a moment, Isaac wondered if he was just going to rip Chris’s throat out instead of bothering with an argument.

“You’re right.” Peter agreed, and with that, all the tension leaked out of the room, leaving everyone in a mild state of shock at the sudden change in atmosphere. “That was crass of me.” He added, and Isaac figured that was as close to an apology as he was going to get.

Chris seemed to sense that too, because he nodded once, sharply, and released the front of Peter’s shirt, backing up quickly. “Stand watch if you want.” He compromised. “But not in the house.” He added, and Peter nodded, just as sharply as Chris had.

“Come along, children. Time to go.” He said coolly, turning and heading for the door without another word to Chris. Fallon shot one last, concerned look at Chris, then followed Peter with a murmured goodbye. Isaac mustered a farewell smile for Allison, then fled after the others. Fallon and Peter were already a little way down the sidewalk – of course, Scott had taken the Jeep – and Isaac hurried to catch up.

“What was that about?” Fallon was asking.

“You expected us to be bosom friends?” Peter shot back mockingly.

Fallon frowned at him. “Well, no, but that was- it was like you _wanted_ him to get mad! Do you- I know you don’t hate him, so what-”

Peter rounded on her. “You. Know. _Nothing_.” He snarled fiercely.

Fallon recoiled in shock, but then, slowly, she smiled. It was a small, tired little thing, but just a little bit smug, too. “I know nothing?” She echoed, and Peter frowned at her. “I _know_ you don’t hate him.” She said again, and now Peter was narrowing his eyes at her, wary but also intrigued. Fallon opened her mouth to speak, but then hesitated and shook her head. “Never mind. You’ll get there eventually.” She sighed.

“You and I are going to have to have a _long_ chat at some point.” Peter told her, and Isaac wondered how Fallon could smile at that, when it sent a shiver down Isaac’s spine. They managed to walk all the way to Scott’s house without another word said. The house was empty save for the two heartbeats Isaac assumed belonged to Russell and Ash, which meant Melissa was at work and everyone else had gone back to their usual beds for the night. Fallon didn’t seem bothered by the lack of anyone to welcome her inside and went straight upstairs to check on Ash.

“What now?” Isaac wondered aloud.

“Now we go back to that atrocious wreck my nephew is trying to pass off as a den and try to get some sleep.” Peter told him. “Good night Fallon, and tell your brother good night, too.” He added at normal volume.

“Peter says good night.” Isaac heard Fallon say.

“Night, Uncle P.” Russell replied, a little louder than the werewolves were talking.

“Night, Peter.” Fallon added.

Isaac decided that he wasn’t going to comment on any of that, and wordlessly followed Peter back out of the house. He hoped they beat the warlock soon, because it had only been an afternoon so far, and he already felt worn out and slightly dizzy. If it went on for much longer, he might just quit everything and run away to join the circus.


	6. Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be the last update for a little while, as I'm doing NaNoWriMo this month, which is going to take up a lot of my free time and motivation. I hope I'll have another chapter for you all sometime early December, but I won't be updating during November. Lots of love to all you guys reading this story!

The moment Stiles opened his eyes, he knew he was dreaming. That, in itself, was weird and had him on high alert. He _never_ knew he was dreaming. He was in his bedroom, but there was no Scott on the floor on an air mattress, and all his clutter was put away. The desk was bare, and more surprisingly, so was the floor. The room didn’t look as though it had been touched in months.

Swallowing, Stiles turned and went for the door, because there wasn’t really much else to do, except maybe pinch himself. He tried that on the way down the stairs, but the only thing that happened was his vision blurred, which might have been the dream flickering, or it might have been the sting of tears because Stiles had pinched himself pretty damn hard. The living room looked normal, the TV was on, and his dad was watching a game with a beer in hand. “Hey, dad.” Stiles greeted, doing his best to sound cheerful.

His dad turned to look at him, and Stiles faltered. His dad looked like he’d been drinking. A _lot_. Stiles tried not to remember the weeks after his mother had died, when his dad had rarely been sober, but it was hard. “Stiles.” His dad rasped out. “What are you doing here?” He asked.

“Uh…” Stiles began, unable to find words, because what the hell?

His dad didn’t seem to need an answer. He closed his eyes and shook his head like he was giving up. A lump formed in Stiles’ throat and he had to brutally remind himself that this was a _dream_. “I told you Stiles. Just get out.” His dad stated, and he _sounded_ like he was giving up.

“W-what?” Stiles stammered out, eyes wide.

“Get out.” His dad repeated. “I’ve had it… up to _here_ with… with all the lies and the excuses and the- god damn it Stiles, it’s hard enough being your parent when you’re _not_ deliberately _trying_ to be a nuisance, and I’ve had it. Get out. I’m done.”

Stiles managed not to flinch, but it was a close thing. “Dad…” He tried, but his dad interrupted him by flinging the beer bottle at the wall. It wasn’t anywhere close to Stiles, but he flinched away.

“Don’t _dad_ me like you’re the victim here, Stiles.” His dad snapped. “I tried- I tried so god damned hard to be a good father to you for Claudia, but you… There’s nothing I can do anymore, just being around you is _bad_ for me, for _everyone_. You’re _toxic_ , Stiles.”

Stiles’ breathing stuttered in his chest, and his eyes were stinging with tears. He opened his mouth to try and say something, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he kept reminding himself it was only a dream, but it wasn’t enough, it all felt too real. His dad didn’t say another word, but he waved a hand in the air that said louder than words that he wanted Stiles gone. Stiles left.

He opened the front door and stepped out onto the charred and blackened porch of the Hale house. It was dusk and the scent of smoke and ash was acrid in the air. Stiles turned around to stare at the door behind him, and he didn’t recognise the symbol painted on the door, he’d never seen it before, but he knew what it was. It was the Alpha pack’s threat.

Stiles’ heart was in his throat as he turned again and looked out at the woods. _Just a dream_ , he reminded himself, but even that didn’t stop him lurching off the porch and straight into the woods the moment he heard a wolf howl.

Someone caught hold of his arm and he stumbled to a stop and looked round. Lydia was there, looking absolutely stunning, as per usual. “Lydia?” Stiles questioned, frowning and looking at the hand on his arm. “What are you doing? I need to help-”

“No you don’t, Stiles.” Lydia interrupted.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“They don’t need your help.” That voice wasn’t Lydia’s. Stiles looked around her and saw Allison, dressed like a hunter and wielding her crossbow like the pro she was. “Me and Lydia are going to go as back up, but you should stay here.”

Stiles squinted at them, suspicious and baffled. “If you’re going, I should go too.” He said, looking between them. “Many hands make light work and all that.” He added.

“You’ll be more of a hindrance than a help, Stiles.” Lydia snapped impatiently. “I mean, really, what good do you think you’re going to do?” She asked, pointedly looking Stiles up and down. Stiles looked down at himself; at ratty jeans and a worn plaid shirt over a very faded batman tee, at his skinny frame and fragile bones and pale skin.

“Out of all of us, you’re the weak link.” Allison added, giving Stiles a sympathetic smile that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Disney movie. “Everyone else is a werewolf, with amazing healing and their superior senses, and out of us humans, well, I’m a hunter. I’ve been doing archery since I was ten, and Dad’s been teaching me so much about how to fight the supernatural.”

“And I’m _immune_.” Lydia added, a smug quirk to her lips. “Plus I’m a genius and everyone would die without my tactical input. They wouldn’t be able to keep their heads on straight, let alone win a fight.” Lydia shrugged and blinked her too pretty eyes at Stiles with a look that was only pretending to attempt sympathy. It was far too smug to actually achieve anything of the sort. “Face it Stiles, you’re just dead weight. We don’t need you.”

Stiles felt the bitter twist of his lips before he even felt the upsurge of resignation and nausea. Beyond that though, he was suddenly completely furious with his own subconscious for playing this trick on him. “Maybe you’re right.” He agreed, and his voice trembled with a mix of pain and rage. “But I’m going to help anyway.” He said angrily. “You want to know why, Lydia? It’s because _despite_ what you think of me – because god knows I know you barely think I’m worthy of licking mud off your Gucci shoes – I do actually care about you. About _all of you_. You, and Allison, and Scott, and Isaac and Erica and Boyd, and Derek, and god, even fucking _Jackson_. You’re my friends, and even if you all _hate me_ , I _care_ , so get off your fucking high horse and just accept that I’m going to fucking help you!”

The girls looked absolutely stunned for a moment, so Stiles turned on his heel and set off into the woods again. As he was leaving, Lydia finally spoke. “They’re _Prada_.” She sniffed, and Stiles almost grinned. But then howls were echoing through the wood again, and somehow, Stiles _knew_ that these weren’t friendly howls. These were the Alpha pack, signalling something. Something almost certainly not good, from Stiles’ experience.

Stiles stumbled to a stop when he reached a clearing. The first thing to hit him was the smell of blood, and then his eyes were swimming with the dark red that was splashed across the grass and tree trunks like paint. He wanted to be sick, but that thick metallic smell was clogging his nose and his throat and he couldn’t breathe, let alone try anything more complicated.

There were bodies everywhere. Isaac had been ripped in half, trails of something that Stiles suspected was probably his guts connecting the two halves. Stiles tried not to look, but in averting his eyes, he saw Erica, a great gaping bloody hole where her throat used to be. There were other wounds on her, but none so brutal as that killing blow. Boyd is beside her, barely recognisable from the way he’s been mauled, and Jackson not far off, his head bent at an unnatural angle. Stiles didn’t see Derek at first, but then he spotted the body of a black wolf, slumped on it’s side, belly ripped open all the way up to his throat.

Stiles’ knees gave out and he crumpled, breath straining in a horribly telling way, but he didn’t have the presence of mind to stave off a panic attack. He can’t even convince himself this is a dream because it all feels too real. He was on the verge of completely loosing it when he heard someone croak out his name. “Stiles-!”

Stiles jerked around, and his eyes widened at the sight of Scott, drenched in blood and half wolfed out, slumped against a tree and clutching at a clearly broken arm. Stiles did a weird scuttle-crawl over to Scott because he couldn’t be bothered to stand up. “Scott! Oh, my god, Scott!”

“Why-” Scott began, paused to cough up worrying amounts of blood, then went on over Stiles protests. “Why’d you do this…?” Scott asked.

Stiles’ eyes went wide as he stared at Scott, hands shaking. “What- I didn’t- I wouldn’t- What?” He stammered, completely confused.

“This- Why’d you drag me into all this?” Scott asked weakly. One of his eyes was gummed shut with half dry blood, but the other was staring up at Stiles with an achingly sad look. “I just wanted to be _normal_ , Stiles. I don’t care about any of this werewolf stuff, I just-” He stopped to gasp a few breaths like just talking was exhausting. “Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?”

Stiles’ vision blurred, and then hot tears spilled down his cheeks. He pressed his lips together and blinked furiously, trying to clear the moisture, but it didn’t help. “Scott, I-” He began helplessly. His hands shook as they hovered over Scott, wanting to touch, but unable to bring himself to. “I’m sorry.” He said finally.

Scott shook his head, closing his eye and leaning back against the tree. “Stiles…” He groaned, weary. “Just… _stop_.” He pleaded.

Stiles choked back a sob and curled his hands into fists, drawing them back towards him. Just as he opened his mouth to apologise again, he heard someone else calling his name. He turned, and what he saw locked his throat up and seized his lungs in an iron grip. A werewolf, hidden mostly in shadow save for the brilliantly red eyes, had his father by the throat. The hand was tipped in vicious looking claws that were drawing little pricks of blood from his dad’s neck. “Dad…” Stiles whimpered, his breath coming in short, stuttering and uneven gasps.

His dad went to speak, but the hand on his throat tightened. “Ah-ah-ah.” The werewolf purred. “Here’s how this is going to work, Stiles. You get me what I want, and I’ll let your father go. How does that sound?” He questioned, his voice sounding almost kind.

Stiles’ head was spinning. “I don’t- don’t know what you want.” He stammered out.

“Of course you do.” The wolf replied. “And you’re the only one that can get it for me.” The wolf continued. “So hurry up, before I get impatient.”

“But-!” Stiles tried again.

“ _Don’t_ try my patience!” The werewolf snapped.

“I-” Stiles began, but too late.

With a snarl the wolf lunched forwards, face twisting into a nightmare vision, not wolf, not man, but caught somewhere in between and glistening like it was wet with blood. It’s teeth closed around the Sheriff’s throat and blood washed down his front, staining his worn t-shirt. The wolf draw back and the Sheriff crumpled to the ground. Stiles still couldn’t breath, but somehow he managed to crawl over to his dad. The man was still breathing, but it was laboured and his eyes were glazed.

“Dad!” Stiles cried, pressing his hands to the wound in a pathetic attempt to stem the bleeding. “No, no, no, no, no! _Dad_! Don’t- Oh, god- Come on, it was a _bite_ , from- from an Alpha!” He tried for a smile, but his facial muscles didn’t seem to want to respond properly. “This is- You’ll be fine, Dad, just- just fine…” He promised, tears blurring his vision again, but he barely noticed. “Come on, come on. You can- you’ll be able to heal, any minute, Dad. Any- any minute now.”

That was when he saw the black beginning to ooze from his father’s ears, and he couldn’t even gasp for air now. There was no air. There was only the sight of that damning black blood; the same thing that had marked Gerard’s rejection of the bite. “Stiles-” His dad rasped out, but Stiles barely heard him. The world was spinning away from him and he _couldn’t breathe_.

“ _Stiles_.” His dad tried again, more insistent. Stiles’ eyes dropped from his dad’s ear to his eyes, which were glazed and unfocused. Stiles eyes dropped further, to where his shaking hands were pressed against the wound and covered in his father’s blood. Then further, to where his dad’s chest was still and unmoving. Black spots danced in Stiles’ periphery, everything went blurred and his head spun and swooped with oxygen deprivation. His chest ached, started to burn with the need for air, but Stiles couldn’t convince himself to breathe. Panic flared white and bright in his mind and his mouth gaped open uselessly, because he still couldn’t breathe and he was going to black out any minute.

A sharp, stinging slap to his face had Stiles opening his eyes and gasping for a breath that, to his surprise, came with ease. He lurched upright in his bed, head still spinning, and found himself in his dad’s arms. “Dad?” He croaked, jaw bumping against his father’s shoulder as he spoke.

“You’re ok.” His dad breathed into his hair, and he sounded awful. That was when Stiles realised that his dad’s hands were shaking as they smoothed over his back and hair. “You’re ok.”

Stiles knew, somewhere in the back of his head, that he would be embarrassed by this for the rest of his life, but right then, he didn’t care. He clung to his dad and burst into tears. A quarter of an hour later, and he managed to pull himself together, drawing back – not that his dad let him go far – and wiping at his face with the backs of his hands. Someone thrust a box of tissues under his nose, and since it couldn’t be his dad, Stiles realised it must be Scott. He looked up, and sure enough, Scott was looking at him with a mixture of relief and concern written across his face.

“What-?” Stiles asked, looking between the two of them as he took the tissues and then promptly blew his nose loudly.

“You had a panic attack in your sleep.” Scott answered. “It was… it was bad.”

“You stopped breathing for over a minute.” His dad said, still sounding hoarse.

“Shit.” Stiles breathed, stunned. “I- I was having a pretty bad nightmare, but…”

“About what?” His dad asked, giving him a soft, concerned frown, ducking his head a little to look Stiles in the eye.

Stiles didn’t look up at him. He focused on ripping a new tissue to shreds. “A lot of people dying.” He said, finally. He was sure his dad would hear the evasion, but he really, really did not want to go into the specifics. Thankfully, his dad didn’t push the issue. Not so thankfully, he promptly pulled Stiles back into a tight hug, and Stiles had to fight hard to keep his composure. “I’m ok, now, Dad.” He assured him, hugging him back.

“I thought I was going to loose you for a second there.” His dad told him, hoarse and broken, and sounding terribly, terribly scared. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” He added, even though they both knew Stiles didn’t have any control over his panic attacks.

“I’ll try, Dad.” Stiles promised, a bitter taste on his tongue. Yeah, he’d try, right up until they had to fight another supernatural monster, and then Stiles would be running right back onto the battlefield again. After all, how could he _not_?

At the thought of supernatural threats, his mind turned to the warlock, and a suspicion began to grow in his mind. That dream had been far too vivid, far too poignant, to be a normal dream. Add to that that Stiles had _known_ it was a dream, and yet he hadn’t been able to hold on to that fact. And the fact it had nearly _killed_ him, and he couldn’t help but wonder. Could magic do that to him? Could that have been an actual attempt on his life?

He was distracted when his dad drew back again and cleared his throat a little. “Right. I’ll get breakfast started. What do you want?” He asked.

Stiles frowned. “Don’t you have work?” He asked.

“Screw work.” His dad stated at once. “They can last one day without me.” Stiles really couldn’t help the smile that caused, and his dad gave a wry little twitch of his lips in return. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Stiles thought about it, he could go with something at least marginally healthy, because whatever he was having, his dad would have, too, or he could go for pancakes or waffles or something and indulge his sweet tooth, or… “Eggs and bacon.” He said.

His dad gave him a long, suspicious look, that Stiles met with an arched eyebrow, silently daring his dad _not_ to take him up on his offer to let the man have _bacon_ , despite how bad it was for his heart. Then his dad sighed, smiling a smile that was all at once fond and warm as well as sad and weary. “Eggs and bacon it is.” He agreed, and Stiles grinned.

His dad stood and left the room, leaving the door wide open, and Stiles didn’t protest. He did, however, wait before speaking while he listened to his dad make his way down the stairs. Before his dad reached the bottom step, the window opened and Derek climbed in.

“ _Oh my god_.” Stiles whisper-yelped. “How long have you been sitting on the roof, waiting for my dad to leave?!” He hissed.

“Since just after you woke up.” Scott told him, side-eyeing Derek mistrustfully. “What the hell are you doing here?” He demanded.

Derek scowled at him. “I was checking on Stiles.” He said, a definite bite to his tone.

“I thought we agreed that I would watch over Stiles. Do you think I’m incompetent or something?” Scott demanded.

Derek rolled his eyes, and looked as though he was going to say something very cruel in return, but Stiles interrupted before he could. “Wait, hold up a second. You turned up _right_ when I actually was in trouble.” He said shrewdly. “Could you _tell_?”

“Yeah.”

“Like a pack-bond.” Stiles prompted, and Derek nodded. “But… I’m not really in your pack…” He said slowly, really hoping Derek wouldn’t take offence.

He looked like he wanted to, but eventually his shoulders dropped into a slightly more relaxed pose. “You’re a potential lupa.” Derek explained simply. “It’s not as strong as a pack bond, or as strong as an actual alpha-lupa bond would be – you’d be able to sense those, too – but it’s enough. I could tell when you stopped breathing.”

“You heard what I said to dad, right?” Stiles checked, and Derek nodded. “Well…” Stiles began, looking between the two of them. “Do you think the warlock did this?” He asked.

Scott looked alarmed at that thought. “It’s possible.” Derek agreed, his frown deepening.

“Great.” Stiles muttered. They lapsed into silence as they all mulled over the implications of that. Finally Stiles sat up a little straighter, and looked over at Derek. “We need to get everyone together again, actually sit down, and talk about how the hell we’re gonna stop this bastard.”

“I guess we’ll be using my house again.” Scott muttered, annoyed but resigned.

“Sorry, dude.” Stiles grimaced. “At least until Ash wakes up, it makes sense.”

“Yeah.” Scott agreed with a sigh. “Ok.” He added, this time sounding less petulant.

Derek looked between them, then settled his eyes on Stiles with a slightly prompting look on his face. “What about the other people involved? Your dad?” He asked, and Stiles dropped his eyes, chewing on his lip in thought. Derek sighed into the silence. “You should tell him.” He stated.

Stiles’ head jerked up, eyes wide. “What?” He asked, stunned.

Derek scowled at him. “You. Should. Tell. Him.” He repeated, much slower.

“No, I heard you, but _what_?!” Stiles reiterated.

Derek gave a long-suffering sigh, closing his eyes as if praying for patience. “He’s worried about you. He deserves to know.” He stated as calmly as he could manage.

Stiles glared at Derek. Even though he knew Derek was right, there were a lot of reasons he didn’t want to tell his dad about the supernatural. “Ok, one? That’s not any of your business.” He said sharply, and Derek glared at him. “ _Two_?” Stiles pressed on. “There is a _massive_ chance that he’s _not going to believe me_ , and then he’ll have me sectioned or something. Three? What happens if he, by some miracle, _does_ believe me, and uses his considerable influence as the county Sheriff to _stop me helping you_?” Stiles pointed out. Derek opened his mouth to interrupt, but Stiles held up his hand and – would wonders never cease? – Derek actually shut his mouth again. “ _Four_? If we somehow manage to skate past my other points that this is even a problem, my dad is _not_ going to just leave well enough alone, is he? He’s going to want to help, and it’s bad enough when it’s my best friend risking his neck, ok? He’s a _werewolf_ , I don’t have to worry so much about him _breaking his neck_ or _having a heart attack_. My dad? I am _not_ shoving my dad into this battlefield unless there is literally _absolutely no other freaking choice_. Understand?”

Derek looked absolutely furious, but he managed to hold his tongue long enough to grate out “You done now?”

“Done now.” Stiles agreed.

“And what happens,” Derek growled, voice low and dark, “when it’s _you_ who breaks their neck and your dad has _no idea why_?”

Stiles flinched at that, but right away, he was meeting Derek’s glare head on. “I’m not going to, because unlike some people I could mention, I actually _have_ a self-preservation instinct.” He shot back angrily.

Derek closed his eyes again, breathing deeply. “It’s your choice.” He acknowledged finally. “But I think you’re being _really_ stupid.” He stressed darkly. “He deserves to know.” He said again, and then he turned and climbed out of the window.

Stiles glared after him and mimed throttling the air in frustration. “What a dick.” Stiles grumbled under his breath.

“Yeah.” Scott agreed. “Come on, lets go see if we can convince your dad to let you come round to mine today.” He suggested, and Stiles nodded, scrambling out of bed and getting dressed. The two of them clattered down the stairs and joined Stiles’ dad in the kitchen.

As Stiles was going to get a drink from the fridge, he caught sight of just how much bacon his dad had put on. “Whoa, hey, not _that_ much.” He yelped. His dad shot him a sour look. “No, really, be grateful I’m not just changing my mind and giving all of that to Scott _and_ making new rules about your birthday and Christmas.”

“Killjoy.” His dad grumbled.

“Love you, too, dad.” Stiles snarked right back, head buried in the fridge. “So, I was thinking maybe I’d go round to Scott’s later.” He continued as casually as he could manage. He didn’t get a response, so he poked his head up over the fridge door, and found his dad staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “What?” He asked.

“Stiles.” His dad said slowly. “I am really glad that you seem to be ok after what happened this morning.” His voice was slow and even, it was his ‘listen to me very closely right now’ tone, and Stiles did listen. “But you _stopped breathing_ , Stiles. You haven’t had a panic attack that bad since-” He cut himself off and Stiles winced.

“I know, dad.” He said quietly.

“And having one in your sleep? That’s new. I can’t- I need you where I can get to you, alright?” His dad said finally, expression strained. “In case something else happens.”

Guilt surged up in Stiles and threatened to overwhelm him because he remembered that feeling. Remembered not letting his dad out of his sight for longer than five minutes for _months_ after his mom died. His dad just wanted one day. There shouldn’t be any problem with that, except there was. There was a warlock running around and he’d tried to kill Allison, and now he’d tried to kill Stiles, and Stiles _had_ to help stop him before he actually managed to kill someone else.

“Why don’t you both come over?” Scott offered from his seat at the table. Stiles turned wide eyes on Scott, wondering what the hell he was doing, but Scott just shrugged unhelpfully at him. “Mom could do with having someone to talk to who’s not sixteen.” Scott added with a wry smile.

The sheriff gave a wry smile and looked to Stiles with his eyebrows raised, silently asking him what he thought. Stiles privately thought it was a disaster in the making, but it was a compromise, so he nodded. “Sounds good.” He agreed.

“Alright then.” His dad said, and went back to the scrambled eggs.

“Not too much butter.” Stiles warned.

“Killjoy.” His dad muttered.


	7. Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the wait on this one, guys. I had some personal problems at the beginning of this month that threw me off right in the middle of this chapter. So, if the ending sucks more than the beginning, or seems choppy or weird, that'd be why. Also, my update schedule from now on is probably going to be really erratic, but I will not abandon this fic, I swear!
> 
> For those of you that are still with me, and have put up with the wait; I love you guys. Seriously. So much love. And I have a question for you. The next couple of chapters are going to be from someone else's PoV, but I'm undecided on who, so I thought I'd ask you all what you want to see; Scott PoV, Derek PoV or Erica PoV?

It was past midday – though only just – when Scott let Stiles and the Sheriff into his house. Even so, Melissa was still in her pyjamas, bleary eyed with a mug of coffee in hand, having worked the evening shift at the hospital the day before. She stopped dead in the hall, clearly on the way to the living room, and blinked blearily at them in utter surprise. “Is something wrong?” She asked finally, looking worried.

The Sheriff gave a noncommittal hum. “Stiles had a panic attack this morning.” He said, and Stiles shot his dad a _look_ for that. His dad _looked_ right back, and Stiles gave up with a roll of his eyes. “And he still insisted on coming over here today, so…”

Melissa nodded. “That’s fine.” Then she smiled a wicked little smile. “Why don’t you join me for a CSI Miami marathon?” She asked, and the Sheriff groaned.

“How about House M.D.?” He suggested dryly, and Melissa gave a dramatic little shudder.

“ _No._ ” She insisted. “My TiVo, my rules, buddy.”

Stiles escaped up the stairs while he could, Scott close on his heels. He rounded the corner and almost yelped when he came face to face with Russell. The redhead had a lopsided little grin on his face. “TV shows? Really?” He asked without so much as a hello.

“It’s an old thing.” Stiles defended half heartedly. “Dad’s never forgiven Melissa for liking procedural cop shows. Is anyone else here?” He asked.

Russell jerked his head towards the guest room, before turning and heading that way himself. “Derek and Peter are in there with Ash and Fallon.” He said over his shoulder, nudging the door open and stepping into the room. Ash was right where he’d been last time Stiles had seen him, fast asleep in the middle of the bed. Derek was leaning against the wall by the window, and Peter was seated on the not so comfortable wicker chair in the corner, book in hand and laptop at his feet. And at the end of the bed, curled over Ash’s feet, was a large black wolf that could only be Fallon. As far as Stiles could tell, she was asleep, eyes closed, tail curled over her nose and ears relaxed.

“So all wolves can do that?” Stiles asked, looking up at Derek.

Derek nodded shortly, without speaking, and Stiles waved a hand in the air, trying to coax a little more information out of him. “Yes, every werewolf is capable of turning into a full wolf.” Derek grated out, looking impatient. “It’s difficult, especially for bitten wolves and alphas.”

“Huh.” Stiles mused. “That’s pretty cool.”

“So, what’s this mini pack-meet about?” Russell asked into the ensuing silence, looking between Derek and Stiles with his eyebrows raised.

Peter looked up from his book. “The warlock apparently tried to kill Stiles this morning.” He said mildly.

For a moment, something ugly and furious flashed over Russell’s face, but then t smoothed out again, leaving Stiles more than a little baffled. “What a dick.” Russell complained. “What happened?” He directed that question at Stiles.

“Some vivid-ass nightmare that, apparently, if I died in the dream, I died in real life.” Stiles summed up. He was more than a little unwilling to share his vulnerabilities with strangers. Even if one of said strangers had helped save Allison’s life.

Russell winced. “I know that spell.” He muttered. “Sucks.”

“So it is a spell?” Stiles questioned, just to be sure.

Peter leaned forwards with a small sigh. “A warlock’s power revolves around words, _names_. I’m impressed he managed to do as much damage as he did without your real name. But then, I suppose, you’ve been using ‘Stiles’ for so long, it probably carries more of your identity than your real name.” He pointed out absently.

“Tangent.” Russell chipped in, almost automatically.

Peter blinked at him, clearly caught off guard. Stiles was impressed, because that was a hard thing to achieve. But then Peter seemed to soften around the edges, and he smiled. Well, it was more of a smirk, really, but nowhere near as sharp as his usual smirks. “Yes, sorry.” He agreed mildly. “My point is that a warlock’s – and a witch’s – powers rely on tokens, labels, names. With the right names, all a warlock needs to do is channel their magic, and your subconscious will do the rest.”

“So… witchcraft is like… by naming a thing you gain power over the thing?” Stiles paraphrased, focusing on adding this information to his mental database.

Peter actually looked proud, almost smug, as he leaned back in the chair again. Stiles wanted to vomit. “Precisely.” He purred. Stiles shuddered.

“If that’s the case why can’t he just name us and, I don’t know ‘death’, and kill us all from a distance that way?” Stiles asked. Peter gave him a look that was part challenging, part condescending, and Stiles knew Peter wanted him to work it out for himself. “There’s gotta be some kind of limitation, right?” He checked, knowing that playing along was the only way to get any information out of Peter.

“Of course.” Peter agreed.

“There are like, five hundred different magic systems running through my head right now.” Stiles told him dryly. “Are we talking Harry Potter or Skyrim kinds of magic here, because-”

Peter rolled his eyes dramatically. “This isn’t a fantasy novel, Stiles.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Stiles muttered.

“Think about what you already know of magic. All the disciplines come from the same root, the thing that makes magic _magic_.” Peter prompted.

“Belief.” Stiles stated.

Peter rolled his eyes again, shaking his head. “That’s _magecraft_. I’m talking about the _magic_ , Stiles.”

“The spark?” Stiles questioned.

“Give the boy a prize.” Peter drawled, slumping back.

Stiles frowned at him, the pieces slowly coming together in his head. “You mean energy.” He said finally. “That’s the root of magic, right? Energy.” He prompted, and Peter’s smug smile was all the confirmation he needed. “So, killing us directly with magic would take too much energy?” He asked.

“You think the energy of a single person’s magic would be enough to control something as vast and unknowable as _death_ , Stiles?” Peter asked.

“When you put it like that…” Stiles agreed.

“It’s also why he won’t be able to control any one of us. It takes _knowing_ a thing to truly name it.” Peter explained. Then he stopped, a thoughtful look on his face. “Hmm, I think I might be one of the few people capable of claiming they _know_ death…”

“No.” Russell interrupted. “ _Don’t_ go there, Uncle P.”

Stiles looked at him, surprised to see the level of discomfort on Russell’s face. He turned to look at Peter, who looked shrewd. He shocked everyone in the room by eventually giving an accepting nod. “Alright.” He agreed mildly. Stiles was impressed by – and also highly suspicious of – just how easily Russell had talked Peter down.

“Wait, ‘ _Uncle P_ ’?” He echoed incredulously.

Russell blinked at him, looking a little like a deer caught in the headlights. “Uh, yeah…?” He replied slowly, as though uncertain it was the right answer.

“Don’t jump down the boy’s throat, Stiles.” Peter drawled. “I like it.”

Stiles opened his mouth to make a comment about that, but it was, strangely enough, the conflicted look on Derek’s face that stopped him. He was suddenly reminded that Peter _was_ an uncle, had been an uncle to a lot more people than just Derek. There was, of course, the fact that he’d _killed_ one of his nieces, but that was somewhat negated by the whole ‘feral’ issue. Stiles was still turning that one over in his mind, unwilling to entirely believe Peter’s claims. “Ok, so now we’ve settled the fact that it was the warlock’s fault, is there any way we can protect against this?”

“The best answer I’ve ever found to magic is fighting fire with fire.” Peter told him mildly.

“More magic.” Stiles muttered. “Great.”

“Looks like it’s all on you, Stiles.” Peter responded, smirking.

“What?” Stiles yelped.

“I do have some small capability for magic, I’ll admit, but nothing that could fight off a warlock this strong. You, on the other hand… your spark burns bright.” Peter explained.

Stiles gaped at him. “I made one circle of mountain ash. _One_.”

“Well, with my experience and your… natural talent, I think we can manage one lousy warlock.” Peter pointed out. Stiles gaped at him.

“Ash is pretty damn strong, magic-wise.” Russell jumped in. “He’s been learning ever since he was little, and Pops says he’s never seen a stronger spark. So once he wakes up, he’ll be able to help.” He added, looking between Stiles and Peter.

Stiles looked at Ash, where he was lying pale and small against the sheets. He looked young, and Stiles felt something bitter rise up in him at the idea of this kid straining himself to this level of exhaustion to save his family. “How old is he?” He asked.

Russell seemed startled by the question. “Thirteen just last month.” He answered, and he seemed to know what Stiles was thinking, because there was guilt in his voice. “He was never supposed to be out fighting. Pops would be furious if he knew what we were doing, but how could we not?” He asked pointedly. “That was our _pack_ out there. And pack protects one another.”

Stiles was saved from having to reply when Derek’s phone rang. He was a little relieved, because if he said what he really wanted to say he would be the world’s biggest hypocrite. Just this morning he had been defending his right to keep his dad in the dark while running around saving a pack of werewolves from supernatural dangers, and here was a kid three years younger than him, doing exactly the same thing. He couldn’t blame him in the slightest, but the idea of the kid getting himself into this level of trouble didn’t sit right with Stiles at all.

Derek checked the caller ID before he raised his phone to his ear. “Isaac?” He asked once he’d answered the call. Stiles, being human, didn’t hear the response, but the way Peter sat up sharply and stared intensely at the phone in Derek’s hand told him something was wrong. Derek’s grip on the mobile went white-knuckled and the plastic creaked ominously. “Who is this?” Derek demanded, and yeah, something was definitely wrong. “Why do you have Isaac’s phone?”

Stiles held his breath as Derek listened intently to whoever was on the other side of the phone. Derek snarled inaudibly, lips curling back to bare teeth that had elongated into fangs. “What did you do to them?” He demanded, voice rougher than normal with how much effort he was putting into fighting the shift. Fallon began to stir, and without taking his eyes off Derek, Russell reached out and stroked her head in a soothing, repetitive motion. Fallon settled again, but Stiles could see her ice blue eyes under Russell’s hand, and her ears were perked up, listening. “…What do you want?” Derek finally asked, sounding more cautious than angry again.

Whatever the person on the other end of the phone said, it made Peter give a dramatic roll of his eyes, and there was an exasperated, irritated, and vaguely disbelieving expression on his face. Then Derek pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it, before silently tucking it away in his pocket, expression dark.

“What was that about? Who was that? What’s going on? Where’s Isaac? Are Erica and Boyd ok? Derek, what’s going on?” Stiles asked in a rush.

“It was the Alpha Pack.” Derek stated.

Stiles’ jaw dropped open. “Are you serious?!” He demanded, flailing his arms in a wide gesture to show his utter disbelief at the situation. “Now? _Now_ is when they decide to make their move?! What, is one psycho warlock not enough? We have to deal with them _too_?!”

“They’ve taken Isaac, Erica and Boyd.” Derek told him.

Stiles made a slightly strangled sound of frustration. “Of course they have. Of _course_ they have!” He exclaimed, frustration beginning to bleed into desperation. “God damn it.” He muttered, running a hand through his hair and trying to force his brain to stop jumping around like a spastic kangaroo on a sugar rush so that he could focus.

“ _Stiles_.” Derek barked, sharp and hard.

Stiles jumped, letting out a huff of surprise as he looked up at Derek with wide eyes. Derek glared at him, but he didn’t look angry, just fierce. “Right, sorry.” Stiles agreed to the wordless communication.

“I need to go look for Isaac and the others.” Derek stated, but if Stiles didn’t know any better, he would have said it sounded like he was checking that was ok. When Stiles nodded, he continued. “You and Peter should start looking into how we can stop this warlock.”

Stiles nodded again, stronger this time. “Scott, you should help him.” He added.

“But what if the warlock tries to hurt you again?” Scott asked at once.

“What if the Alpha Pack decides to kill Isaac? Or Erica? Or Boyd?” Stiles replied, and Scott’s face scrunched up with indecision and regret. “They’re in more danger than I am right now, ok? So you need to find them and get them back safe, and let me worry about me.”

“Alright.” Scott mumbled. “But call me if anything – _anything_ – happens.”

“Scouts honour.” Stiles promised.

“Don’t worry, Scott, I’ll take care of him.” Peter assured them with what Stiles thought was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile. Instead, it just gave him a horrid bad-touch feeling that made him shudder.

“That is so not reassuring.” Stiles informed Peter, who smirked in response.

Scott narrowed his eyes at the man. “On second thought…” He began.

“Oh my god, _GO_ , ok?!” Stiles cried in exasperation. “Uncle Creepy isn’t going to do anything with my dad literally _right_ downstairs.”

There was a rustle from the bed, and Stiles turned just in time to see Fallon’s form twist and blur and the next thing he knew, she was a teenager again, still in her aviator jacket and skinny jeans. Stiles wondered absently what happened to her clothes when she shifted. “I’ll help, too.” She offered, stretching her arms above her head and making her shoulders pop. “As long as Russell stays with Ash.”

“Yeah, sure thing, sis.” Russell assured her.

Stiles nodded, working the logistics out in his head. “I can call Lydia, see if she can do any digging on the Alpha Pack, while Peter and I work on the warlock?” He offered, and Derek nodded. Then he was sliding the window open and leaping out. Fallon was hot on his heels with a quick wave over her shoulder.

Scott hesitated. “I can stay if you want me to.” He said earnestly.

“They need you more than I do right now, Scott.” Stiles reminded him. “This shit is fucked up, we shouldn’t have to handle this, but damn it, we are _going_ to fucking handle it because they are _not_ going to get to hurt our- friends _ever_ again.” Stiles stumbled and corrected himself before he could say ‘pack’. He ran a hand through his hair again, trying to scrub that little slip out of his head, or at least pack it away for examination at a later date. “So you need to go. And at least _try_ to listen to Derek, just for now, for me, please?” He added.

Scott pouted. “Fine.” He muttered, and vaulted out of the window.

Stiles took a moment after he left to just breathe, listening to the sounds of Peter booting up his laptop. Then he pulled out his mobile and called Lydia. They had a brief conversation, where Lydia only snapped once and agreed without too much complaint to head round to Allison’s to look through their bestiary, as well as a few of her own books that she’d collected together since learning about the supernatural. She hung up on him without saying goodbye, but Stiles didn’t mind to much. He just dropped into the chair at Scott’s desk and pulled his own laptop out of his backpack.

He was half way into an occult website on warlocks and magic when he got distracted by googling the concept of an Alpha Pack. Within five minutes, he was opening up another tab and glancing thoughtfully at Russell. To his surprise, Russell was already watching him. “So, uh, I don’t think I ever caught your surname?” Stiles prompted. About as unsubtle as you could get, but he wasn’t really trying.

“We never told you.” Russell pointed out. Stiles narrowed his eyes at the obvious evasion. Russell gave a laugh that was rough and slightly bitter. “You really don’t trust us, do you?” He asked wearily, almost pained.

Stiles almost felt bad. “Honestly?” Stiles began turning the desk chair round to face Russell head on, leaning forwards as he did so, elbows braced on his knees. “No. No, I don’t. You pop up out of nowhere with an unconscious thirteen year old, with a warlock in your wake, and I know Peter knows you, somehow, but despite your story about being closely tied to the Hale pack, Derek’s never seen you before. There’s _something_ you’re hiding from us, and I don’t like it.”

“We don’t have to tell you every detail about our lives.” Russell pointed out, a touch defensive.

“No, you don’t.” Stiles agreed, frustration beginning to bubble up inside him. He leaned back again and scrubbed a hand over his hair. “But… But this isn’t just about _you_. You brought this danger here, and whatever it is you’re hiding, it has something to do with what’s going on, and it’s putting my pack in danger. Don’t you think I’ve got a right to know?!” He demanded, gesturing angrily.

Russell looked like a petulant child, not meeting Stiles’ gaze, his mouth twisted into a vaguely guilty looking scowl. It reminded Stiles just a little bit of Derek. “… _Your_ pack, Stiles?” Peter questioned smoothly.

Stiles startled, a guilty look flashing over his face as he winced. “Shut up.” He snapped half heartedly.

Peter, predictably, ignored him, still tapping away at his laptop. “Does this mean you’ll be accepting the position of lupa?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know.” Stiles answered shortly, not wanting to give Peter anything.

“Wow. You two really don’t like each other, do you?” Russell asked, interrupting.

Peter looked over at him with raised eyebrows, a faintly amused look on his face. “On the contrary, I like Stiles very much.” Peter stated, with just a touch too much emphasis on the last couple of words. Stiles gave a dramatic, full-body shudder.

Russell bit his lip hard, as though biting back laughter, and Stiles glowered at him for finding this funny. When Russell got his composure back, he let out a soft huff and carded his fingers through his hair, leaving it ruffled and spiked up messily. “Look…” He began, frustrated. “Fallon is so much better at this shit, but… we wouldn’t keep secrets if it was hurting people, ok? Can you at least believe that?”

Stiles stared at Russell, trying to get a good read on his sincerity. “I really, really don’t like that the only person who seems to know what’s going on is _Peter_.” He announced. “If it was _anyone_ else, I’d be able to go on faith. I might not like it, but I would. But I trust him _less_ than I trust you.”

“I’m wounded.” Peter murmured, pressing a hand to his chest.

Russell, for his part, was looking as though he was having an extremely hard time processing that concept. “But…” He began, sounding completely baffled. “But he’s _pack_.” He said finally, looking between Peter and Stiles in utter confusion. “How-…?” He tried again, but didn’t manage to get any further than the one word.

Stiles shook his head. “It is so not that simple. Even _if_ I was part of Derek’s pack, Derek’s only slightly less on-the-fence about Peter as I am, but I’m not even part of the pack yet. And all I know about Peter is that he killed Laura, he bit Scott without his consent, he tried to get Scott to _kill us_ , he mauled and traumatised Lydia, he attacked me, and he tried to kill Allison. And that’s not even counting all the people he killed who were involved with the fire, because, ok. Reasoning; I get it.”

Russell actually looked upset at that, but when he opened his mouth to speak, Peter beat him to it. “While your defence of me is _touching_ , Russell, please stop.” He drawled calmly. “We are both relatively mature people who can sort out their own problems.” Russell pulled a face, but subsided. “When Stiles has worked out whether or not he believes that I was feral, we’ll have a nice long conversation about what exactly that means and how it affected my decision-making process, and hopefully, we’ll be able to reach some sort of understanding.”

Stiles blinked and turned to stare, slightly agog, at Peter. “Dude, _how_ did you know that I was-” He began.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Please, Stiles. You are one of the few _intelligent_ people in this pack, of course you were working out whether you could believe it or not.”

“Not in the pack.” Stiles muttered absently.

“Yet.” Peter shot back at him smugly, and Stiles realised that, yes, he really had said that earlier. He needed to stop thinking about it.

With a groan and a vaguely flailing gesture, he turned back to his laptop. He looked over the page he had been on, about the idea of an Alpha Pack, and huffed impatiently. “So, Peter, the Alpha Pack. How does that even work?”

“Aren’t we supposed to be focusing on the warlock?” Peter questioned, arching a lazy eyebrow at Stiles over the top of his laptop.

Stiles shrugged. “I can multitask.” He stated, clicking back onto the page about the warlock. Over the course of the last several months, Stiles had gotten pretty good at identifying which websites were good for supernatural information, and which ones were really just people making stuff up. Unfortunately, the websites he knew didn’t seem to have a lot about warlocks or human magic. They were all about shifters, or other supernatural creatures.

“I don’t actually know.” Peter confessed. “It shouldn’t work, but there’s enough reference to Alpha Packs in our history that we know that they do.” Stiles made a disappointed, frustrated sound and aggressively clicked through a new link onto an occult website that sold things like incense and candles. There were several pages about magic and how to use it that seemed pretty legit, and Stiles read through them while simultaneously making a couple more search tabs looking for anything that might be more about fighting dark magic.

“How old are you, Russell?” Stiles blurted out in between flicking through various search results, looking for something that seemed genuine. He didn’t look round, but the silence he got in answer told him he’d startled and possibly confused Russell.

“Uh, eighteen.” Russell answered eventually.

“And Fallon?”

“Nineteen.”

“Huh… You guys are sibling, right?” Stiles checked, because, now that he thought about it, he’d assumed they were, but he couldn’t remember it being confirmed.

“Yeah.” Russell replied, nodding. “And before you say anything about how close me and Fallon are in age, I’m adopted. I was adopted when I was about two.” He added.

“And you said – yesterday – that your dad was the Alpha of your pack, right?” Stiles prompted as he bookmarked a page that looked like it might be helpful.

Russell hesitated to answer, long enough that Stiles looked over his shoulder with his eyebrows raised. The look he got in response was suspicious and annoyed, all mixed up with an edge of amused resignation. “Yes, Dad is the Alpha of the pack, and Pops is the lupa.” He answered with a sort of grudging humour.

“And your parents know Peter?” Stiles asked, keeping his attention on Russell this time.

“Yeah.” Russell agreed simply.

Stiles waited for something – anything – more, but Russell didn’t oblige. He just sat there, looking at Stiles expectantly. “What are they like?” Stiles asked eventually, trying to pry a little more information out of him.

Russell shrugged, looking puzzled. “I don’t know, they’re just _them_ , you know?” He answered awkwardly. “I mean… Dad’s a great big softie, and Pops is really fun?” He offered up, grimacing at Stiles as though his ineloquence was all Stiles’ fault. “What’s with the interrogation?” He asked after a moment of silence.

“I’m just trying to get more of an idea of what the hell’s going on.” Stiles replied in frustration. “We’ve got to find a way to beat this warlock, _and_ stop the Alpha Pack, _and_ stop _this_ pack from falling apart, all without anyone _dying_ , which is all _way_ too much in the first place, but then I have _you_ , with your cryptic bullshit and your secrets, not to mention Mr. Comatose over there, which, how far did you even _come_? Madagascar?!” Stiles gestured violently in the air. “And I can’t just let it go, not when you’re so closely linked to this warlock, and there’s so much on the line. So, I _am_ going to figure out whatever it is you’re hiding, so help me god!”

Russell stared at Stiles, then shrugged. “Ok.” He agreed, sounding resigned, but not particularly upset or angry.

Stiles blinked. “Uh… ok? Just like that?”

“Yeah.” Russell shrugged. “I mean, nothing I say is going to change your mind, so… Ok.” Now he sounded frustrated. “I don’t _like_ that you don’t trust us, in fact, it’s insulting, when we came here to _help you_ and _save your pack_ , but you’re pretty stubborn, so I figure I’m just going to let you get on with it.”

“…Fair.” Stiles agreed.


	8. Scott

Derek was insufferable. It only took Scott five minutes to decide that. In that time, Derek had led him and Fallon over to the Camaro and they’d gotten in. As they were, Derek had given Scott this _look_ , as he pulled the passenger seat forward for him, that made Scott bristle, like Derek was silently mocking him for thinking _he’d_ get to sit in the front seat – which Scott hadn’t even thought in the first place! So now, as they drove towards the center of Beacon Hills, Scott was fuming in the back seat, while Fallon sat up front with Derek.

“So, how are we going to find them?” Fallon asked, as though she was completely untouched by the tension between Scott and Derek.

Derek glanced over at her with an eyebrow ever so slightly raised, and Fallon looked back, perfectly patient. Scott admired her calm, and tried to emulate it himself. He was doing this for Isaac, Erica and Boyd. And Stiles. Not Derek. “I’m going to try and pick up a scent trail.” Derek replied, blunt and brusque. He sounded aggravated, and even though it wasn’t directed at him, it still annoyed Scott. It was as though the man couldn’t stand to be questioned at all, even if they were perfectly valid questions!

But Fallon wasn’t bothered. “Ok.” She said simply, and went quiet.

“Why are you helping with this?” Derek asked suddenly. Both Scott and Fallon turned to stare at him. He glanced briefly at them, eyes flicking from Scott in the rear view mirror, to Fallon in the passenger seat, and then back to the road. Fallon looked as though she didn’t understand the question. “This – the Alpha Pack – it isn’t your problem. You’re here for the warlock, aren’t you? Not the Alpha Pack.” Derek explained.

Scott closed his eyes and dropped his head to rest against the back of Fallon’s seat. He was just _done_ with Derek’s melodrama. Completely _done_. His head jerked up a moment later, though when Fallon laughed under her breath. Scott thought it sounded a little sad. “I’m here to help. Yes, the warlock is my main focus, but I’m not going to turn my back on you guys if something else comes up. Your problems _are_ my problems. Isn’t that how it works?” She asked quietly.

Derek’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “You’re not pack.” He told her, low and intense, almost angry. Scott rolled his eyes.

“She doesn’t have to be _pack_ to _care_.” He pointed out, unable to help himself.

Derek’s eyes flashed up to meet his in the rear view mirror. After a moment, he smiled mockingly. “That optimism of yours is going to get you hurt one day, Scott.” Derek told him darkly. Scott shook his head, mouth open in disbelief. Then he slumped back in his seat and scowled at the back of Derek’s head, wishing he had laser eyes or something.

The thing he really hated, more than anything, was Derek’s uncanny ability to make him feel like a kid again. It was like facing his dad all over again, and damn Peter for pointing out that Scott saw Derek as an authority figure, so that Scott couldn’t ignore it anymore. “That authoritative attitude of yours is going to get you hurt one day, Derek.” He retorted, aware that he was being immature, but unable to bite his tongue.

Derek’s eyebrows flew up, and he actually turned in his seat to stare at Scott for a moment, incredulity written in every line of his face. Scott met his stare challengingly, and after a moment, Derek was forced to turn back to the road. Scott counted that a win. “I’m the Alpha.” Derek reminded him through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, and one day, someone’s going to get so sick of your bossing them around, they’ll take it from you, and then you _won’t be_ anymore.” Scott shot back. Fallon sank down in her seat, clearly uncomfortable, and Scott felt bad suddenly. Not bad enough to take back what he said, though.

“They’re welcome to try.” Derek retorted, sounding annoyingly composed.

“ _You_ managed to kill Peter.” Scott pointed out.

“Only after Stiles _set him on fire_.” Derek reminded him.

Scott was brought up short by that; partly because of the reminder that Stiles had asked him to try and get along with Derek for the day, and partly at the admission that Derek had needed help. The silence became awkward very fast. Fallon cleared her throat. “So, how far to the den, D-Alpha Hale?” She asked, correcting herself at the last moment when she nearly called him ‘Derek’.

Scott snorted. When Fallon looked back at him, questioningly, he gave her a wry smile. “It’s not much of a den.” He told her, caught somewhere between amused and disapproving. Predictably, Derek’s expression darkened, and he growled quietly, lips twitching like he wanted to bare his teeth. But Fallon surprised Scott. Instead of curiosity, which was what he’d been expecting, she winced, and gave Scott a disbelieving, slightly shocked and pitying look. “What?” He asked.

“You have no idea what you just said, do you?” She asked, sounding a little awed.

Scott frowned. “What? I said that an abandoned train depot and a rusted, falling apart train car isn’t much of a den.” He protested. “What’s wrong with that?”

Fallon sighed, then glanced at Derek, her expression questioning. Derek glanced at her, then tipped his head in an accepting gesture. Fallon turned back to Scott. “Ok, if you were part of Alpha Hale’s pack, saying that in front of someone from another pack is not only _unbelievably_ rude, but also dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Scott echoed, baffled. “But I’m not-”

“I’ll get to that.” Fallon interrupted, and Scott fell silent. “And it’s dangerous because… an Alpha is supposed to provide for their pack in the material sense, Scott. Food, water, shelter, safety; that’s the Alpha’s _job_. By saying that Derek’s den is substandard, you’re also saying that Derek is a substandard Alpha.”

“Well, he is.” Scott interrupted.

Fallon’s eyes flashed ice-blue suddenly. It was only the briefest moment, but Scott leaned back a little in shock. Then she took a deep breath and composed herself again. “No, he’s a new alpha struggling to hold a new pack together in difficult circumstances while being constantly under threat.” She told him, firm and blunt. “And by saying what you said, you were quite literally inviting me, my pack, to attempt to take over the territory and absorb Alpha Hale’s pack into our own.”

“Not quite.” Derek interrupted, his voice surprisingly soft.

Fallon glanced at him, then nodded in acknowledgement. “No, ok. If a _pack member_ had said that, it would be an invitation. It’s a vote of no confidence, Scott. You’re telling an outside force that Derek is not fit to be an Alpha. Any Alpha worth their salt would challenge him for the territory and the pack after that. If they didn’t, _they’d_ be a negligent Alpha.”

“What?” Scott yelped. “Why?!”

“ _Because-_ ” Fallon began, a touch impatient. “That’s like hearing a parent is abusing their child, and not doing what you can to get that child away from their parent.”

Scott stopped to think about that, frowning slightly. He thought of Isaac, and how livid he, and Stiles, had been when they’d realised that Jackson had a pretty good idea of what was going on in that house, and he hadn’t said a word. “…Yeah, ok.” Scott muttered. “But I’m not part of his pack.” He reminded her, less aggressive and more curious.

“No. And it’s a little less dangerous for that, but no less rude. You’re saying, _right in front of Alpha Hale_ , that you think he’s not fit to be an Alpha. You’re publicly shaming him, and, if I weren’t aware of his situation, I would be honour bound to report to my alpha, who would then be honour-bound to investigate, but at least be more able to draw their own conclusions.” Fallon told him. “Do you see?” She asked.

Scott nodded. “Yeah.” He agreed, then drew in a deep breath. “Sorry.” He said in a rush, because he knew he wouldn’t get it out, otherwise. It was mostly directed towards Fallon, but it was said for Derek’s benefit, too.

Fallon smiled at him, clearly forgiving, but Derek was harder to read. He looked at Scott in the rear view mirror again, and for a moment, Scott held his gaze. Then Derek nodded, and Scott understood; apology accepted.

The rest of the drive to the train depot was made in silence. When they arrived, Derek got out first and strode off into the depot without a word. Scott made an irritated sound under his breath, and moved to get out of the car. Fallon’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “We haven’t been invited in.” She reminded him.

“So? We should help.” Scott pointed out.

Fallon shook her head. “You have to make up your mind, Scott. Do you want to be part of Derek’s pack, which gives you the right and responsibility to be involved in pack problems, or do you not, which gives you the freedom to take care of your own without interference?” She asked him solemnly.

Scott frowned at her. “It’s not about that.” He told her, a touch defensive. “I want to help. Isaac’s my friend, and I don’t want anything bad to happen to Erica or Boyd, either. But I’m not going to- to let Derek boss me around or aim me at whatever supernatural threat is picking on him this week, so that he gets to sit back with his feet kicked up.” Scott ranted, then abruptly pressed his lips together, aware that Derek probably heard every word he just said.

The silence dragged on until Scott mustered the courage to look at Fallon. She was watching him with an infinitely sad expression that bordered on wounded. “He wouldn’t do that, Scott.” She told him, so softly it ached.

“How do you know?” Scott asked, honestly interested in the answer.

Fallon looked away then, eyes dropping to her lap. There was a long silence. Scott wondered how long it could really take to check for a scent, and then decided that Derek was probably standing just out of view, listening in. “Because he reminds me of my dad.” Fallon answered finally. “And my dad…” She paused, and gave a fond little laugh. “He’s a martyr. He’d never make a member of his pack fight a battle he wasn’t willing to, and he’s always the first one in the line of fire. The number of times he’s been hurt because he took an attack meant for someone else… I think Alpha Hale is like that too.”

“Really?” Scott asked sceptically.

“Really.” Fallon confirmed. “And my dad is a good alpha, so I have faith that Alpha Hale will be, too. He just needs a good lupa to balance him out.” She added, sounding very matter-of-fact.

That reminded Scott of the conversation the previous day, and he sighed, scowling down at the floor of the car. “Stiles is gonna do it, you know.” He said gloomily.

“How do you know?” Fallon prompted, sounding very amused. Scott looked at her, and saw her looking out of the windscreen. He followed her gaze to where Derek was returning, face set into his usual stern and intimidating mask.

Scott glared at him, feeling a returning surge of anger and animosity toward the man. “He’s my best friend.” He stated, both as an answer to Fallon and as a warning for Derek. “I know him better than he knows himself, and he’s already decided, he just hasn’t figured it out yet.”

“Would he really do it without you, though?” Fallon wondered.

Scott saw Derek’s stride falter a little, right before he reached the car and opened the passenger side door. “I’ve caught the scent.” He said bluntly. “We’ll need to follow it on foot. Come on.” He ordered, then turned and walked away.

Scott bristled as he waited for Fallon to get out, so that she could tip the seat forward and give him space to follow. “He might ask me if I’m ok with it.” He allowed, glaring daggers at Derek’s back as he and Fallon walked side-by-side after him towards an alley along side an empty and abandoned lot. “Which I’m _not_.” He added in an attempt to deliberately needle Derek. “But I don’t know if that would stop him…” He confessed, much quieter, for Fallon’s ears alone.

Fallon gave a noncommittal hum, and Scott got the feeling that she was trying very hard not to say whatever was on her mind. Before Scott could ask her what she was thinking, however, Derek turned to look at them from all the way at the other end of the alley and called back “Would you two hurry up?!” in irritated exasperation.

“Sorry, D- Alpha Hale!” Fallon called back, and picked up her pace.

Reluctantly, Scott sped up, too, and the two of them fell into step a little behind Derek as he led them through a maze of alleys and tiny little streets. As they walked Scott tried to subtly scent the air, to pick up traces of Isaac’s scent, all entangled with Erica, Boyd and a bunch of other wolves. It was frustrating trying to pick out the individuals, though. He knew Isaac, Erica and Boyd, so he could just about differentiate, but the Alpha Pack was just a tangle of wolf and power and strange.

A giggle drew him out of his contemplation, and he turned to see Fallon watching him with amusement glittering in her eyes and her lips pressed together against a smirk. “What?” Scott asked, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“You don’t need to _sniff_ like that to catch a scent.” She told him, laughter bubbling just under her words. “Just _breathe_.” She added.

Scott blinked at her, then tried, instead of sniffing the air, breathing deeply. To his surprise, the scents were just as easily detectable. “Oh.” He said sheepishly, and Fallon grinned and laughed at him. Derek shushed them without looking around, and Scott bristled, but then Fallon sobered, eyes going glazed like she was listening. Scott focused his supernatural sense of hearing, and after a moment, he heard muffled voices coming from the abandoned bank further up the street.

“This is boring.” A rich, aggressive female voice complained.

“Patience, Kali. The alpha-cub will come for his pack soon enough.” Another woman replied, in a much lighter, kinder voice.

“The waiting is killing me.” The aggressive one, apparently called Kali, grumbled, sounding more sulky and put-out than genuinely annoyed or upset.

“Quit your whining!” A gravely male voice interrupted.

“Are you telling me what to do, Ennis?” Kali demanded, her voice going dangerously silky.

“I wouldn’t have to if you would just shut up and stop complaining.” Ennis retorted, fierce and unrepentant. Someone, most likely Kali, Scott thought, growled, fierce and low. It definitely wasn’t a play-growl.

“Oh, my god. You guys are pathetic.” Scott perked up a little at the sound of Erica’s voice.

“We got the drop on _you_.” A younger male voice, that definitely wasn’t Isaac’s or Boyd’s, pointed out, sounding horribly smug.

“We were outnumbered two-to-one, alphas against betas, and you want to count that as a win?” Isaac shot back.

“I bet I could take any of you bitches one-on-one.” Erica added.

There was a growl. “You think so, huh?” Ennis snarled. “Julia, let her out. I’m gonna teach this little bitch a lesson.”

“You don’t get to make those decisions, Ennis.” The kind-voiced woman, Julia, replied calmly.

“For god’s sake, woman, I’m not going to set her loose. I just want to claw that pretty little face up a bit.” Ennis complained. “Aren’t you supposed to _serve_ and protect, not dictate?” He added, rude and aggressive.

“Say that again.” Kali snarled. “I dare you.”

“ _Peace, children._ ” A new voice snapped, powerful and smooth. Everyone else went deathly quiet, and Scott felt a distinct shiver go down his spine. “They’re here.” The man stated, and Derek’s shoulders stiffened.

That was all the warning Scott got, before Derek and Fallon shot off towards the abandoned bank, and he was forced to lurch after them or be left behind. Derek ripped the bank’s fire exit door off it’s hinges without any apparent effort, and Scott could _feel_ the alpha power pouring off him in waves as he stalked inside.

A few corridors and corners later, they stepped out into the foyer of the bank, where the alpha pack was waiting. There were six of them, spread out around the room and looking perfectly relaxed in the face of Derek’s fury. In the middle of the room was a middle-aged man wearing sunglasses and holding a walking stick, and he was smiling at Derek. Off on one side was a large, muscled man with a shaved head leaning against the wall, and across the room from him was a dark-skinned, lithe woman who was stood next to a pale, pretty woman with wavy brown hair perched on one of the desks lining the walls. Behind the man in the middle of the room, one of the vaults was open, and inside were two teenagers, twins by the look of them, standing either side of the trussed up trio of betas.

Isaac, Erica and Boyd were standing, their hands bound over their heads with rope that was leaving nasty, bubbling red burns on their wrists. The ropes were pulled so taut the three of them were forced to balance on their tiptoes just to keep breathing.

“Derek Hale.” The man in the middle of the room greeted, sounding ever so pleased. “So kind of you to drop by.”

“Return my betas and I won’t rip your throat out.” Derek snarled.

The dark-skinned woman snarled and the woman beside her hopped gracefully off the desk to stand firmly beside her. The man in the center of the room, however, laughed. “That’s not very polite.” He reprimanded mildly. “How else was I supposed to get your attention, when you ignored my little calling card?”

“Try picking up a phone?” Derek retorted. “What do you want?” He asked before any of the Alpha Pack could reply.

“I did tell you that. On the phone.” The man replied.

Derek rolled his eyes. “My power?” He questioned, openly mocking.

“Yes. Your power.” The man agreed, smiling serenely. “Which leaves you with two choices.” He continued, stepping forwards, his stick sweeping across the ground in front of him. Blind, then, Scott realised. For some, that realisation might be a relief, a weakness to exploit, but it only made Scott more nervous. The rest of the alphas were clearly deferring to him, which meant there was _something_ more to him than a blind old man. “You can either join us, and add your power to the collective… or you can die, and add your power to whichever _lucky_ alpha lands the final blow.”

“How about option number three; you give me back my betas and leave my territory.” Derek suggested, arching one eyebrow.

“Now why would I do that? I have nothing to gain.” The blind man pointed out.

“You get to keep your face intact. Or, mostly intact.” Derek shot back. Scott saw out of the corner of his eye that Derek’s claws were sliding out.

“Do you really think you can win this fight?” The blind man asked, and Scott bristled at the patronising tone he was using. “There are six of us, and only three of you.” He pointed out, tilting his head slightly to one side.

“Actually, there are six of us, too, dickwad.” Erica snapped.

“Yes, but you’re not going to be very useful, tied up like that, are you?” The blind man replied without turning around.

“Not to mention, we’re _alphas_.” The dark-skinned woman added, grinning wide and showing off her wolf-teeth. By her voice, Scott could tell that she was the one called Kali. “And you are itty bitty betas with a cub for an alpha. You couldn’t take us with your whole pack, let alone the way you are now.”

“Oh, yeah?” Fallon snarled mockingly, eyes flashing blue and staying that way.

“Are you sure you won’t reconsider, Derek?” The blind man asked. Fallon snarled quietly, but he ignored her completely. “You would be a great asset to our pack.”

“I have a pack.” Derek stated simply. “And you hurt them.” He added, and then he was shifting into the half-way form. He opened his mouth and _roared_ , then sprinted at the blind man. The bulky man, who by process of elimination Scott decided had to be Ennis, and Kali leapt to intercept him, but Scott and Fallon got there first. Scott attempted to swipe at Kali with his claws, but she bent backwards out of the way, and her feet came up, claws scratching deep cuts into Scott’s cheek. He waited for them to heal as she flipped onto her hands and then back onto her feet, but they didn’t.

_Oh, right. Alpha._ He reminded himself, and lunged after her.

Kali was quick and flexible, swaying and ducking out of the way of all of his attacks, while most of the time, Scott only just managed to dodge her claws by a hair’s breadth. Twice, she caught him a glancing blow that ripped clothing but only left faint red lines on his skin. As they dodged and circled around each other, Scott caught glimpses of the other fights. Derek was facing the blind man and the pale woman, who had to be the one called Julia, and he was holding his ground well enough, but he wasn’t making any headway. Julia, it turned out, was some sort of magic user, and was constantly making the floor buck under Derek’s feet. Fallon, meanwhile, was holding her own against Ennis, despite having a couple of shallow wounds that weren’t healing. Scott took half a second to be impressed by how fluid and easy her shifting between wolf and human was. She could start an attack human, but it was a wolf’s muzzle that closed around Ennis’s arm.

For his distraction, Scott felt claws rake across his thigh, slicing through denim and flesh alike. Blood gushed down his leg, but he ignored it and retaliated by swiping his own claws at Kali. This time, he caught her shoulder and ripped four deep cuts down and across, over her collarbone and chest. Kali stumbled backwards coughing a little, but the wound was already healing, closing right before Scott’s eyes. Kali snarled at him, clearly pissed off that he’d managed to land a blow, even if it hadn’t stuck.

Then the floor heaved under him and something large and hard slammed into his side, sending him flying across the room. He hit the floor and rolled, coming up on his feet, and he realised that the thing that hit him was one of the half broken desks, which was now lying on it’s side next to Kali.

“Scott!” Fallon called. Scott looked round at her, and she nodded towards something behind him. Scott turned, and saw he was now between Derek’s fight and the open vault. He looked back to Fallon and nodded, turning to sprint towards the vault and the twins waiting inside.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Kali snarled, and the floor began to try and buck Scott off again. Almost instantly, two deafening roars echoed through the room as Derek and Fallon intercepted the Alpha Pack’s attempts to stop Scott.

As Scott darted into the vault, the twins stepped forward, standing between him and the betas. “We won’t let you get them.” One of the twins told him, confident to the point of sounding cocky. Scott didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he attempted to dart around the twins. An arm shot out and caught him in the chest, throwing him backwards. “Nice try.”

Scott leapt back to his feet, grimacing at the pain in his cheek and thigh. It was a good thing it was the summer holidays, because he wouldn’t have enjoyed being forced to go to school with claw marks on his face, he clashed with the twins again, while he tried to figure out a plan. They batted him back again and again, and Scott realised that they weren’t using their claws. Where Kali had been only too happy to slice Scott up, these two were hesitating.

“So how does an Alpha Pack even work, anyway?” Scott panted, leaning his hands on his knees as he made a show of trying to catch his breath.

“We’re not going to tell you that.” One of the twins replied, patronising.

“Ok, but it seemed like that blind guy-”

“You mean Deucalion.” The other twin corrected.

“Oh, so that’s his name.” Scott acknowledged, nodding to himself. “Well, it seems like he’s in charge, but aren’t you all alphas?” In answer, the twins both flashed their eyes red, so Scott continued. “Doesn’t that, I don’t know, go against your nature?”

The twins shared a look with each other, then shrugged. “Only a bit.” The first twin said, dismissively.

“So, what are your names?” Scott asked.

The twins blinked, clearly taken aback. “Aiden.” One – the one that was slightly bulkier around the shoulders – answered.

“Ethan.” The other added.

“I’m Scott. So how did you join the Alpha Pack?” Scott asked.

“None of your business.” Aiden snarled.

Scott held his hands up in an attempt to pacify the alpha. “Whoa, dude, sorry. Touchy subject then. It’s just, I noticed that you’ve got to be around my age, and I couldn’t imagine being an alpha. That’s way too much pressure, surely?”

“Pressure?” Aiden laughed. Ethan, on the other hand, looked a little perturbed and unsettled. “Power is freeing. There’s nothing more powerful than an alpha, so no one can tell us what to- Whoa!”

In the middle of Aiden’s gloating, Scott had leapt forwards again, angling himself towards Ethan. Already a little off balance, Ethan didn’t react quickly enough as Scott barrelled straight into him and bowled them both over. They crashed into Boyd’s legs, and Scott sprang to his feet first and lashed out at the ropes with his claws. They frayed a little, but as Scott went to claw them again, he became aware of a burning feeling in his fingertips.

He paused, and that moment of distraction cost him. Aiden slammed into him, sending him sprawling with two new scratches on his sides. They weren’t deep, but it sent a jolt of adrenaline through Scott as he realised the twins weren’t taking it easy on him anymore. He rolled back onto his feet, just in time to clash with Aiden. As they grappled, Scott heard Boyd snarl, and when he glanced over, he saw the other boy straining against his ropes, trying to tear through them.

Aiden kneed Scott in the stomach, and Scott doubled over, gasping for air. Aiden’s cruel laughter was suddenly drowned out by a dramatic ripping sound, and then Boyd roared and slammed into Aiden, knocking him away from Scott and the two of them tumbled to the ground, wrestling for the upper hand.

Scott turned towards Erica and Isaac, who were still struggling against their bonds, but Ethan was stood between him and them, looking pissed. He and Scott watched each other warily, waiting for the other to make the first move. Then Ethan jolted and stumbled forwards, and Scott instinctively dodged out of the way. “What…?”

“Just because I’m tied up, doesn’t mean I’m useless, jackass.” Erica told him sharply, lowering her leg. “Now get me down so I can kick that douchebag’s ass.” She added.

Scott stepped up and sliced through the ropes with three quick slashes of his claws. It left his fingers raw and burning. He looked down at them, and saw that the skin was red and irritated. He frowned. “What…?” He mumbled.

“They’re soaked in wolfsbane, moron.” Erica told him. Then she flashed a grin over his shoulder. “I’ve been wanting to rip you a new one for hours, you little bitch.” She snarled, and then darted past Scott. He spun on his heel in time to see her shift into wolf form mid-leap and latch her jaws onto Ethan’s shoulder. Scott turned back to Isaac, whose eyes were glowing gold and his lips were drawn back to show very wolfish canines. Scott freed him with another few slashes at his ropes, even though it made his fingers feel like they were about to drop off.

Isaac barely paused long enough to give Scott a nod of gratitude before he launched himself out of the vault and into Kali, knocking her away from Fallon, who was bleeding heavily from numerous scratches. Kali let out a surprised, pained yelp as Isaac started tearing into her.

“NO!” Julia yelled, and there was a sudden shockwave of power that knocked every single werewolf over. Scott smacked his head hard against the floor of the vault and his head spun for a couple of seconds before he could lift his head without feeling like the world was trying to throw him off. He looked up, and saw that Julia was the only one left standing, her hair rippling through the air in a disturbingly intimidating way. “Kali!” She called.

“I’m ok, Jules.” Kali replied. “Little shit caught me by surprise is all.” She added, shoving Isaac off her and sitting up. Isaac rolled limply across the floor, and Scott’s breath caught in his chest, fear rippling through him at the sight of Isaac so pale and lifeless looking. He tried to focus, to listen, but he couldn’t find Isaac’s heartbeat.


	9. Scott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have a a couple apologies to make. First, I'm sorry this took so long to get out. This is probably going to be a standard apology for me, but I am sorry, all the same. I wish I could give you all a chapter a week, because you're all awesome, and you deserve it. Second, Camp NaNoWriMo starts in April, so from now until May, I'll be working on that (planning takes forever, and I've left it kind of late already, trying to get this chapter done...). So the next chapter won't be coming until May. So much apologies for being so slow, and many thanks for being such wonderfully patient people.
> 
> I love every single one of you who's read, commented, bookmarked or left kudos on this fic. You guys keep me going when life gets hard (which is always). Even the guests, anons, and lurkers out there. You're all awesome, and thank you so much. This fic wouldn't have gotten this far without you.

A furious roar ripped through the air, and a mass of dark fur barrelled into Julia, sending her crashing to the floor. Kali scrambled to her feet with a vicious snarl and leapt to join the fight. Erica and Boyd let out twin howls full of desperation and rage and flung themselves into the fight with reckless abandon. Fallon was still on the floor, bleeding badly and trying to back away from Ennis, who was advancing on her with slow, predatory delight.

Through all of this, Scott felt frozen in place. Sounds only reached him vaguely, as though from a very, very long way away, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Isaac’s prone form. He suddenly became aware that he wasn’t actually breathing, and sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. This seemed to jolt him back into the present, and he scrambled towards Isaac in an awkward semi-crawl, because he couldn’t spare half a second for getting himself upright. He skidded to a stop beside Isaac and hauled his head and shoulders off the floor and onto his lap. “Isaac?” He questioned, shaking the other boy slightly.

Isaac’s head lolled uselessly at the shaking, and Scott felt his heart clench in his chest. “No, no, no…” He muttered, feeling the telltale sting of tears at the corner of his eyes. “Isaac!” He cried again. There was, predictably, no response, and that was the last straw for Scott. He bowed his body over Isaac’s, forehead coming to rest on the other boy’s chest as he fought back the upswell of grief for his friend.

_Ba-dump_.

Scott sat up sharply, staring wide-eyed down at Isaac, disbelief and confusion warring with hope in his heart. Tentatively, he lowered his head again and pressed his ear against Isaac’s chest, focusing his supernatural hearing with all of his might. The sounds of the battle seemed to get louder and louder around him, but he tuned it out and focused on Isaac. Several long, long seconds passed, but right as Scott was about to give up, he heard it again. That too soft, too quiet beat of Isaac’s heart. It was weak and slow, but it was _there_.

Scott wasn’t entirely in control of what he did next. It was all instinct. He tipped his head back and _howled_. There was no better way for him to express the pure relief and jubilation that was surging through his veins.

In the middle of fighting both Julia and Kali in his wolf form, Derek’s head snapped up at the sound of the howl, eyes alpha-red and full of relief. He shifted back to his half-shifted form, which enabled him to slip out of the fight for the few precious seconds he needed. “Everyone, get out.” Derek called, voice rough but strong. “Scott, get Isaac.” He added. Scott didn’t need the instruction, he was already hauling Isaac’s limp form up into his arms and heading towards the door.

“I don’t think so.” Deucalion commented calmly. He tossed his walking stick aside, and then removed his sunglasses. The skin around his eyes was faintly scarred, and his eyes themselves were milky with scar tissue. He rolled his shoulders, and then he shifted. He phased right through beta form and on into full wolf form. Except he didn’t become a wolf. He looked, Scott thought, a lot like Peter’s old alpha form. He stood on two legs, caught in some atrocious middle ground of wolf and human, but not truly either. He was almost eight foot when standing upright, and a grey-brown in colour. His eyes _should_ have been alpha red, but they were still clouded over and milky white, like two miniature moons, flashing and reflecting the light.

Slowly, he dropped onto all fours, shoulders bunching in a telling way. He leapt at Scott, but a black wolf, half the size of the monstrosity Deucalion had become, slammed into him in midair, and they went tumbling. The wolf rolled away from the Alpha Pack’s leader when they hit the ground, got to it’s feet and snarled, hackles raised. For a moment, Scott thought it was Derek, but then he realised it was Fallon, and she wasn’t looking good.

Even as she stood there in a semi-crouch, on guard against Deucalion, there was a small pool of blood forming around her paws, and her fur was wet and matted with the stuff. Scott hesitated in his retreat, worried about Fallon, but when he stopped her eyes flashed to him and she growled impatiently. It wasn’t hard to interpret what she wanted, so Scott obligingly got a move on.

He stumbled out of the doorless fire exit and followed his nose back to the den. Isaac didn’t stir once on the journey, and once they arrived at the den and Scott had somewhere to lay him down, he checked Isaac’s heartbeat again. It was still there, weak and far too slow, but reassuringly steady. Sucking in several deep breaths, Scott grabbed his phone and called Stiles. He picked up quickly. “What’s the sitch, Scott?” He asked. In the background, Scott could hear a couple of laughs, presumably from Russell and Peter.

“We got Isaac, Erica and Boyd free, but the Alpha Pack have some kind of magic user on their side and she hit Isaac with something.” Scott explained. “I got Isaac out, but the others are still fighting.”

“What’s wrong with Isaac?” Peter asked in the background.

Scott looked down at Isaac, and it was a fight to keep his voice steady as he answered. “I don’t know, there was this shockwave, and we all got knocked off our feet, but Isaac didn’t get back up again. He- His heart’s still beating, but… he looks dead.” He explained, and the last part came out in a pain whisper.

“Jesus.” Stiles breathed out like a curse.

“Is he breathing?” Peter inquired, and for some reason, his calm tone pissed Scott off. He shoved it back, and held a hand over Isaac’s nose and mouth.

For a long moment, he felt nothing. After an agonising wait, however, he felt a soft ghost of a breath against the palm of his hand. “Yes! But- really shallow and slow. I can’t see his chest moving at all.” He exclaimed into the phone.

“Unconscious?” Peter checked.

“Yeah. And his heartbeat is really slow, too.” Scott added.

“I’ll have a look at my notes, see if I can find anything that might help.” Peter told him absently. Once again, Scott had to tamp down the desire to punch him in the face.

“Scott?” The new voice made Scott’s head come up, just in time to see Fallon limping into the train depot. His eyes widened when he took in the state she was in, and he scrambled up with a muttered curse to help her. The moment he had an arm around her, she sagged into him, shaking. “I’m alright.” Fallon assured him, not very reassuringly. “Just… need to sit down.”

Scott helped her into the train wreck, and sat her down beside Isaac. She leaned back against the wall of the train and closed her eyes. The phone was lying abandoned on the floor, and from it, Scott could hear Stiles’ yelling. “Scott? Scott?! What’s going on? What’s happening?”

Sitting back down, Scott scooped up the phone and lifted it to his ear again.”Sorry. Fallon just got back, and she’s not in very good shape.” He explained.

“What?” Peter and Russell both snapped.

Scott wanted to claw Peter’s eyes out for the fact that some stranger he’d never actually met before warranted more concern than Isaac. “We were up against the _Alpha Pack_.” Scott snapped at them. “She got a bit clawed up and it’s not healing.”

“Guys, I’m fine.” Fallon protested, sounding breathless. “Just a bit cut up. I’m not _dying_.”

“Do you need stitches?” Peter asked, in the same tone someone might use on a hyperactive toddler.

Fallon looked down at herself. There were multiple scratches and bite marks on her legs, and a set of four, pretty deep claw marks across her stomach. Her arms and shoulders had been protected somewhat by her aviator jacket, but there was a bruise appearing on her collar that looked like it spread pretty far over her shoulder, and a small cut on her forehead that was bleeding a lot. “Um… yes.” She admitted reluctantly.

“You’re lucky your parents don’t know about this.” Peter told her sharply.

Fallon dissolved into giggles. “Ow, don’t make me laugh, Uncle Peter.”

Scott squinted at her in incredulous confusion, but Fallon just waved him off, trying to modulate her breathing to keep from pulling the wounds on her stomach. “You can’t get Melissa to fix you up, with Stiles’ father here.” Peter stated, bringing Scott back to the conversation. “And you can’t go to the hospital, if the wounds look anything like I imagine they do.”

“Like I got into a fight with a feral cougar? Yeah, pretty much.” Fallon admitted ruefully. “But that’s ok, we can just go to- to Mr. Argent’s.” She added, wincing slightly. “He can patch us up without us needing to make excuses.”

Scott stared at her. “You want to go to _Chris Argent_?” He asked.

“Wait, is that what she said?” Stiles asked in his ear.

“Uh… yeah.” Scott replied, wincing slightly when he realised Stiles couldn’t hear Fallon’s side of the conversation. “Hang on, putting you on speaker phone.” He explained, then followed through. Once that was done, he lay it on the floor beside Isaac’s shoulder.

“Ok, dude, Peter, why are you looking like you just swallowed a lemon?” Stiles questioned. “I know it’s not ideal, but it’s the best we got. If the hospital’s out, and Melissa’s out, then that doesn’t leave us with much option… unless you wanna go to Deaton?” He suggested tentatively.

“Deaton?” Fallon questioned, frowning.

“You don’t know about him?” Stiles questioned, aiming for casual. Scott could only pick up on the shrewd note in Stiles’ voice because he knew him so well.

“…I don’t think so…” Fallon replied, frowning. “Should I?”

There was a moment of silence before Stiles answered. Scott wondered what his friend was trying to work out, and resolved to ask him at some point when Fallon or Peter wouldn’t be able to overhear. “He’s our local druid-slash-emissary-slash-veterinarian.” Stiles explained finally.

“Oh!” Fallon exclaimed. “The Hale Pack’s old emissary.” She added, smiling faintly. “Yes, I had heard of him. Alan Deaton, right?”

“His first name is _Alan_?” Stiles yelped incredulously.

“Yes.” Peter answered, sounding exasperated, but reluctantly amused, and Stiles dissolved into laughter. Scott couldn’t help but grin and roll his eyes at his best friend, even though Stiles wouldn’t see it.

“He’ll be working now, though, won’t he?” Fallon asked, smiling a little at the laughter. “I don’t… really want to walk into a public place in this state.”

Scott looked her over, at the blood covering her almost head to toe, and grimaced. “Argent’s it is, then.” He agreed, only a little reluctantly. “Once the others get back, we’ll head over there, then back to mine, I guess.” He concluded, shooting a glance at Fallon to check that was ok. She nodded at him, with a little one shouldered shrug that made her wince.

“Ok, cool. We’ll see you then?” Stiles checked.

“Yup. Later, dude.”

“See you.”

Scott hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket, then settled in to wait. It wasn’t five minutes before the sound of footsteps and heartbeats caught his attention. He counted three sets, and his shoulders slumped as he let out a sigh of relief. Sure enough, a moment later, Derek, Erica and Boyd came into view. Derek had the most wounds on him, more even than Fallon, but he seemed to be holding up better than the slighter girl. Both Erica and Boyd, however, looked to be in the same state as Scott; a little roughed up but not actually in danger of bleeding to death. “Hey, glad you’re ok.” Scott said, mostly to Erica and Boyd.

They looked a little surprised by the sincerity in his voice, but they shrugged it off with easy smiles. “Yeah, well, I still wish we’d had a chance to fuck one of them up.” Erica muttered, dropping down to sit on one of the few chairs still left inside the train car. She paused, and there was a slightly vulnerable edge to her voice when she next spoke that Scott hadn’t heard since before she took the bite. “How’s Isaac doing?”

“He’s breathing." Scott replied grimly, with a slightly wry edge that drew a bitter grimace to Erica’s lips. “Peter’s going to look into what- uh… Julia did to him.” He added.

“Right.” Erica agreed, eyes going hard. She turned to Derek. “Do we trust him? Because I don’t think we should trust him.”

Derek scowled, but it wasn’t directed at anybody, just the wall of the train car. “I trust him, if that helps?” Fallon piped up, looking warily between Derek and Erica as though they were acting strange and it was making her edgy. Scott saw that look often enough on his mother’s face to recognise it, even on a stranger like Fallon.

Erica turned to Fallon with a distinctly unkind smirk on her face. “No offence, sweetie, but I don’t know you, and I don’t trust you. So I’m not exactly going to take _your_ word for it that he’s trustworthy. For all I know, you could be just as fucked in the head as he is.”

Fallon blinked a couple of times, then shook her head like she was giving up. “I don’t understand you people.” She muttered.

It looked as though Erica was seconds away from a cruel and cutting retort, so Scott jumped in quickly in an attempt to stave off an argument. “I’m sure Stiles will look into it, too.” He assured her with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

Erica turned to him, and nodded her acceptance. “Stiles I trust.” She stated.

“Ok, good.” Scott replied. “Now that you’re all back, me and Fallon are going to get patched up.” He told them, getting to his feet. The wound on his thigh throbbed painfully with the movement, and he winced. Once he was on his feet, however, he hesitated, irrationally worried about leaving Isaac’s side. “…Call me if anything changes?” He pleaded, eyes flicking between the other members of the pack.

“We will.” Derek confirmed, without any of the disapproval he’d kind of been expecting. “You can’t go to the hospital like that.” He added, more stern now.

“We’re going to the Argents’.” Scott told him.

Derek’s eyebrows flew up, and he opened his mouth like he was about to chew them out. Scott bristled, and Derek must have noticed, because he snapped his mouth shut hard enough that his teeth clicked audibly. “I think you’re being really, really stupid.” He stated through gritted teeth, glaring at Scott.

“I guess that’s a no to you driving us there, then?” Fallon asked, voice strained.

Scott and Derek both turned to look at her, and Scott felt worry surge up in him again. She was looking alarmingly pale, and her jeans were drenched with blood. “Fine.” Derek snapped. “Erica, Boyd, stay with Isaac.” He snapped at them. They both nodded obediently. “Come on.” He grated out, and stalked out of the train car again.

“Here, let me…” Scott offered, moving to stand beside Fallon and steady her as she stood up. She swayed once she was on her feet, clearly light-headed, but she gritted her teeth and managed to carry her own weight out to the Camaro. Scott stayed close, keeping a hold on Fallon because her balance wasn’t the greatest, until they reached the car.

Derek came up on Fallon’s other side, letting her lean on him. “Get in.” Derek ordered, looking at Scott. Rolling his eyes, Scott clambered into the back. Once he was in, Derek helped Fallon into the front seat, then got into the driver’s seat himself.

During the drive across town to the Argent house, Derek broke the speed limit on three different occasions. Once they pulled up across the street from Allison’s house, he hesitated a moment, before getting out and holding his seat forwards for Scott. Scott climbed out and rounded the car to help Fallon. “Hope the neighbours aren’t watching.” Fallon muttered under her breath. Scott snorted.

On the other side of the car, Derek was hesitating to get back in. Scott raised an eyebrow at him. “Thank you.” Derek said eventually, and it looked like it pained him to say it. Frankly, if Scott hadn’t seen his lips moving, he wouldn’t have believed it was Derek speaking.

“I didn’t do it for you.” Scott informed him petulantly.

Fallon elbowed him in the ribs. Scott winced; Fallon had sharp elbows. “You’re welcome.” She said to Derek pointedly.

Derek nodded to Fallon, then turned a poisonous glare on Scott. “I know that, but whatever your reasons, you helped my pack. So, on behalf of the pack; _thank you_.” He gritted out, and his eyes were just daring Scott to reject these thanks as well.

Scott suddenly felt a little ashamed of himself, and dropped his eyes to the ground. It was hard, talking to Derek, to remember that not everything he said and did was an attempt to manipulate and control the people around him. “Anytime, dude.” He muttered sheepishly. When he looked up, he saw a surprised look morphing into acceptance on Derek’s face. Derek nodded, then got back into the Camaro and drove off.

Together, Scott and Fallon limped up to the Argents’ front door and Scott rang the doorbell. Scott could hear three heartbeats inside. Two of them, Allison’s and Lydia’s, were upstairs, but Chris’s was moving steadily towards the door. When he opened it, he looked them over with a scowl, then stepped back to let them in without a word.

Only once the door was shut again did he speak. “What happened?”

“Alpha Pack.” Fallon told him. “That’s why it’s not healing. I’m sorry to bother you, but I can’t exactly go to the hospital with this, and you’re one of the few people I know in this town with medical knowledge.

“What about Ms. McCall?” Chris asked, glancing at Scott.

“She’s with the Sheriff right now.” Scott replied. “And we really don’t want him to see us like this.” He added, as if it wasn’t obvious.

Chris sighed in resignation, before fixing a resentful glare on Scott. “Go down to the basement. It’s through the living room on the left. I’ll get the med kit and meet you down there.” He ordered brusquely. Scott nodded and went, not wanting to test the man’s patience.

As he was helping Fallon manoeuvre the stairs, Scott heard Allison’s voice from somewhere above his head. “Dad? Is everything ok?”

“That girl – Fallon – got herself scratched up by the Alpha Pack.” Chris informed her, not sounding overly concerned. “She and Scott are downstairs.” He added, though it sounded as though the words tasted bad on his tongue.

“Do you need any help? An extra pair of hands?” Allison offered. Chris didn’t give a verbal reply, but Scott assumed whatever his response, it was a positive one, because a moment later, Allison said “Lydia, I’m gonna go help Dad.”

“I’ve got this. Go. Shoo.” Lydia replied, and Allison laughed. Scott closed his eyes for a second, basking in the sound.

Fallon stumbled as they reached the bottom of the stairs, and Scott was forced to refocus on his immediate surroundings as he steadied her. The basement was spacious and surprisingly homey, with a nice rug and several cluttered desks and cabinets around the walls. In the middle of the room was a large square table that was the only surface in the room not covered in bits of hunting paraphernalia.

Allison and Chris appeared on the stairs, and before he even stepped into the room, Chris barked out another order. “Up on the table.” He snapped to Fallon. Scott helped her hop up onto the edge of the table as Chris set the medical kit on the table beside Fallon. “I need to cut through your jeans.” He warned Fallon.

Fallon nodded. “Yeah, I figured.” She agreed, before shooting a slightly hesitant glance at Allison. “Do you think I could… borrow another pair afterwards? I don’t… actually have any other clothes with me.” She explained.

“Oh, sure.” Allison agreed at once. “I’ll get them once we’re done.” She promised.

“You came all the way into another werewolf’s territory and you didn’t pack any clothes?” Chris asked, eyebrows raised incredulously. He passed Allison a pair of scissors without looking at her, and Allison took them and set to work cutting open Fallon’s blood-soaked jeans so they could be peeled away from her wounds.

“We weren’t… really planning to come. It was a- a spur of the moment… thing.” Fallon said with a shrug. “The warlock just… just teleported and we f-followed.” She hissed in pain as Chris splashed some anti-septic, alcohol-based solution over one of the large wounds. Her claws made a shrill scratching sound on the metal of the table. “Fuck.” Fallon spat out. “Ow.”

“It’ll help numb the pain.” Chris informed her.

“That’s… that’s good.” Fallon breathed, wincing again. The whole process, from start to finish, took maybe half an hour, and by the end of it, Fallon’s cheeks were wet with tears, but she wasn’t actually in danger of bleeding to death anymore. Scott was given the job of bandaging her up, while Allison fetched her a loose pair of jeans. Chris packed up the med kit, but instead of taking it upstairs, he left it on the table and went to get something from one of the desks. When he returned he had a glass of amber-brown liquid that he handed to Fallon. She looked at it for a moment, before arching an eyebrow and smirking as she took it and drank. When she swallowed, she closed her eyes and shuddered. “Good stuff.” She complimented, handing the glass back to Chris.

“You’ve got good taste.” Chris replied.

“Grandpa’s picky about his whiskey, so I got taught how to choose good whiskey before I was even legal to drink.” Fallon told him, grinning a little.

“Your grandfather?” Chris questioned mildly.

Fallon shot Chris a shrewd look, but nodded. “Well, I mean, we’re not technically blood related, but he’s pack.” She told him, a secret little smile dancing on her lips like she was laughing at something she knew that they didn’t.

“I didn’t think werewolves could get drunk.” Chris commented

“He’s not a werewolf.” Fallon informed him. “Neither of my Grandpas are, or my Nana. But just because ‘wolves can’t get drunk, doesn’t mean they can’t appreciate a good scotch whiskey or vintage wine.” She added pointedly.

Chris didn’t look very impressed, but he tipped his head in a grudgingly acknowledging gesture. He picked up the med kit and turned toward the stairs, but then paused, looking back. “Do you need that stitching up?” He asked, nodding towards Scott’s leg and cheek.

Automatically, Scott’s fingers jumped to his cheek, and he winced as the cuts there stung at the contact. “Nah. They’ll last a day or so, but even alpha-inflicted wounds heal faster than humans.” He explained, smiling his gratitude. “I’ll be good in a couple of days. Thanks though.” Chris didn’t reply, just nodded shortly and left. He passed Allison on the stairs, who was carrying an armful of denim. She held the jeans out to Fallon when she reached her with a sweet smile that made Scott’s heart jump a little in his chest. God, he missed her so much.

“Thanks.” Fallon said to Allison, taking the jeans from her. She shot Scott a knowing look that made him flush pink in embarrassment, but thankfully, she didn’t comment on the blip in his heartbeat, and just went about getting dressed.

Once Fallon was fully dressed again, the three of them made their way upstairs to the front door. “Hey.” Allison called as Scott reached for the door handle. He paused and looked back at her. “If you need any help – with the warlock _or_ the Alpha Pack – let me know.” She told him, and while her expression was hard, her eyes were sincere. “I want to help.”

Scott couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face, even though he was sure it looked absolutely sappy and goofy. “Yeah, of course.” He assured her. Allison smiled back, all gratitude and relief, but after a moment she seemed to realise just who she was talking to, and she ducked her head and backed off a couple of steps. Scott deflated, shoulders slumping in remorse and disappointment. “Uh, see you, um, later, I guess.” He offered awkwardly in goodbye.

“Yeah. Bye.” Allison replied.

Once he was out the door and it had shut behind him, Scott stopped and sighed heavily, the loss of his relationship with Allison sitting heavy in his stomach. He startled when Fallon put her hand on his shoulder. He’d forgotten, for a moment, that he hadn’t been alone. “It gets better.” Fallon told him, voice so soft she was almost whispering.

“Yeah.” Scott murmured, deciding not to mention that there was a part of him that didn’t _want_ it to get better. He didn’t want to move on and get over her. It was _supposed_ to hurt that she wasn’t with him. “We should get back.” He continued, shaking himself out of the melancholy.

Fallon nodded without another word, and they set off, walking in companionable silence. Every now and then Scott caught Fallon wincing as her newly stitched wounds pulled, but when he offered to take some of her pain, she refused with a determined look on her face. When they got back to Scott’s they snuck round the back and climbed up to his bedroom window. It was open, and they slipped inside without making a sound. Stiles was still on the computer and didn’t even notice them, engrossed as he was in reading whatever it was he was reading, and Ash, of course, was still passed out in the bed. But the thing that caught Scott’s attention and caused his eyebrows to rise all the way up his forehead was Russell lying on the floor, his head and shoulders pillowed on a large brown wolf snoozing away on the carpet. He had Peter’s laptop propped on his stomach and was scrolling through something lazily, but he looked up when they got back and smiled in greeting.

“Hey. You ok?” He asked, looking at Fallon, but glancing at Scott to include him in the question as well. Stiles startled at that and looked around, slumping in relief when he saw that they were all in one peace. He waved distractedly to Scott, but he was already turning back to the computer before Scott could wave back.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Fallon assured Russell, walking over. Between one step and the next she’d shifted into her wolf form and curled up against his side. She wriggled for a moment, getting her nose buried under one of Peter’s forepaws, then went limp.

Russell dropped a hand to her back and tangled his fingers in her fur. “Oh, sure. So good you need to puppy-pile to feel better?” He muttered scathingly. Fallon only gave a soft little rumbly growl in response. Russell rolled his eyes in a manner that was actually very reminiscent of Peter, and went back to the computer.

“Did anyone find anything to help Isaac?” Scott asked the room at large.

“I’m going through Uncle P’s database now.” Russell told him without looking up. “I’ve found over half a dozen sleep spells, three ‘near-death’ spells, and a couple of coma spells already, and I’m only a third of the way through this fucking thing.” He added grumpily. “This thing is fucking huge, and-” Russell cut off when they suddenly heard the Sheriff call Stiles’ name from the hall. Stiles jumped again, and looked around like a deer in the headlights. Scott was sure his own expression matched Stiles’, but then it got even worse. “In here, Sheriff!” Russell called, making Scott’s heart leap in his chest.

Fallon huffed out a little canine laugh, and Peter raised his head curiously, just as the door opened and the Sheriff stuck his head in. His eyebrows were raised, but he looked more amused than angry. His eyes skated over the scene, lingering on the two wolves – Scott prayed that he’d believe they were just wolf-like dogs – but he clearly decided not to comment, and looked at Russell instead. “I didn’t realise this was a party.” He commented dryly. “I don’t believe we’ve met?” He prompted.

“I’m Russell, sir.” Russell replied with a winning smile. “Me and my brother Ash are staying here for a couple of days – Melissa’s a family friend.” He explained.

The Sheriff nodded. “Good to meet you. Stiles, it’s getting a bit late-” He began.

“Can’t I stay the night, Dad?” Stiles asked quickly, cutting his dad off and making the Sheriff give him an exasperated look. “No, it works, cause then if anything happens again, Melissa will be here. And she’s a fully trained ER nurse. It’s perfect.” Stiles assured him, nodding solemnly.

The Sheriff sighed, then nodded. “Fine, if it’s ok with Melissa.”

Scott couldn’t help but laugh at how Stiles thrust both fists in the air and wiggled in the chair in an odd little victory dance. “You’re awesome, Dad!”

“I know.” His father assured him, before ducking out of the room and pulling the door shut behind him.


	10. Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long! I honestly thought I'd have it up at least a week ago, but this chapter was really difficult to get right. I'm still not entirely happy with it, but it's good enough, and you guys have been so amazingly patient and encouraging, so here it is. I should be getting updates out with more speed now that I'm not distracted by original work, hopefully.

It was late, and Stiles was sprawled out on an air mattress in Scott’s room, while Scott was shuffling around his room getting ready for bed. The light went off, but Stiles barely blinked as Scott abandoned the light switch and crawled into bed. “You ok?” Scott asked, voice low and soft, but not quite a whisper.

Stiles didn’t answer for a moment. “Can she hear us?” He asked eventually, at a similar pitch and volume as Scott. He meant Fallon, of course, since she was currently the only werewolf in the house besides Scott.

There was silence for several seconds. “She’s asleep, I think, so she’s not listening.” Scott offered finally. “Why?”

“I’m just… I’m missing something – about them, the three of them – and I can’t figure out what on earth they’re hiding. Nothing makes sense, except it feels like it should, you know?” Stiles rambled in a frustrated whisper.

“No.” Scott answered bluntly. “But I do think they’re not telling us everything.”

“Exactly. And Fallon’s really good at misdirection and answering questions with non-answers and shit, and it’s really frustrating. But I was talking to Russell today, and he point blank refused to tell me his surname, so that must have something to do with it.” Stiles murmured, frowning in thought. Scott leaned over the side of his bed to stare down at Stiles in puzzlement, and Stiles saw that his eyes were flashing gold in the dark. “And it all comes back to Peter, too. He knows them. They know him. Like… like they’ve actually _met_ him, not just know _of_ him as a family friend, and he _trusts_ them. I mean, did you see the way Peter listened to Russell about the whole death-magic thing? One word from Russell, and Peter accepted it, just like that…”

“They say their packs are connected, so maybe they came to visit before the fire?” Scott suggested.

“But then why doesn’t Derek know them? Why does Derek not have a single clue who they are, or who their pack is. If it’s as closely tied as they’ve said, you would have thought he’d have recognised the-… scent…” Stiles trailed off.

“What?” Scott asked eagerly, recognising that Stiles was on the verge of figuring something out from his tone.

“Derek _does_ recognise the scent, though.” Stiles said slowly. “He said they- And they wouldn’t- And that would explain why they- And Peter said about- _Oh my god_!” Stiles yelped, sitting bolt upright and flailing in excitement. He nearly smacked Scott in the face, but thanks to his werewolf reflexes, Scott managed to dodge in time. Then he hissed at Stiles to be quiet, and Stiles clapped a hand over his mouth, praying he hadn’t woken Fallon.

After several long, tense seconds, Scott relaxed. “It’s cool.” He breathed, and Stiles slumped, too. Then Scott rounded on him. “‘Oh my god’ what?!” He whispered eagerly.

“They’re _from the future_ , Scott.” Stiles whispered in awe.

Scott did not react the way Stiles was expecting him to. “What… you really think so…?” He asked with tentative scepticism.

“It totally fits!” Stiles whisper-yelled, indignant that Scott wasn’t taking this very seriously. “If they’re part of the Hale Pack from the future, then that totally explains why they’re saying their pack is connected to ours, why they wouldn’t tell me their last name, why they’re so invested in saving us. Hell, it even explains why the warlock came here, because if he kills _us_ , then he doesn’t need to bother killing _them_ , because they’ll already be _dead_. Holy crap. And it makes sense why Peter would trust Russell’s word, if he knows that Russell has future knowledge, and why Peter recognised the scent of their parents, because he _knows_ their parents.”

“But… time travel, Stiles?” Scott sounded distinctly sceptical.

Stiles responded with his best deadpan, unimpressed expression, which he’d learned from his Dad, because he used it on Stiles a lot. “So you can accept werewolves, kanima, magic, druids, warlocks, and _alpha packs_ , but time-travel is too much for you?” He asked incredulously.

“Well, when you say it like that…” Scott muttered. “But if you’re right, Stiles, what does that mean?” He asked.

Stiles took a moment to feel smug that Scott had accepted his theory, but then reality came knocking and he sobered up. “I don’t know yet. Well, I suppose it means we can trust them. They really did come back to help us, because if we die, they’ll never exist.” He paused, realising that he hadn’t quite appreciated the meaning of that yet. “Whoa. Derek has kids. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before, Fallon totally looks like him. They’ve even got the same colour eyes, that whole green-blue-grey thing that changes colour with the light.”

Scott frowned. “Since when have you been noticing the colour of Derek Hale’s eyes?”

“They’re pretty, Scott, ok? Just like the rest of him.” Stiles retorted, but he could feel his cheeks heating up and inwardly cursed his fair skin and werewolf vision. Scott gave him a distinctly judgemental look. “From an objective viewpoint, Derek Hale is a Greek god’s wet dream, and anyone with eyes could see that. And you have eyes, Scott, so don’t even front with me.” Stiles pointed out irritably.

After a moment of more judgemental staring, Scott relented. “Ok, ok. So… we think Fallon, Russell and Ash are Derek’s kids from the future, and they’ve come back in time to stop a warlock from killing our past selves – us – in order to kill our future selves?”

“Yup.” Stiles nodded. He started chewing absently on his lower lip as he ran back over the events of the last few days in his mind. “And Russell said Fallon was nineteen, so they’re from _at least_ twenty years in the future, but probably more. And Peter’s part of their pack, twenty years in the future, so I guess he probably _isn’t_ just trying to lull us into a false sense of security.”

Scott suddenly laughed. “Oh my god, I just remembered. Earlier today, when we were looking for Isaac, Fallon was telling me all about how Derek reminded her of her dad, and that’s how she knew he was going to make a good alpha.”

Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle, too. “To be fair, I don’t think we’d be able to resist the temptation to make comments like that if we went back in time.” He pointed out. Scott conceded with an amused sound. Stiles let out a gusty sigh and snuggled deeper into his bed, feeling some of the tension he’d been carrying around all day just bleed out of him, leaving him jelly-limbed and sleepy. “Jeez, I’m so glad I figured out what’s going on with them.” He murmured softly as he closed his eyes, relief colouring his tone.

“One down, three to go.” Scott agreed, drawing a lazy snort out of Stiles. “Night, Stiles.”

“Night, Scott.” Stiles replied, already feeling sleep tugging at him.

The next morning he was woken when Scott tripped over him on the way to the bathroom. Stiles was actually pretty used to being woken up like that whenever he slept round at Scott’s, so he only grumbled a little and rolled over, hoping to catch a few more minutes sleep. Then his eyes snapped open as he remembered his revelation from last night. Slowly, he sat up and stared at the wall that separated Scott’s room from the guest bedroom, stunned by the realisation that there were actual, genuine _time-travellers_ only one room away from him right now.

There was no hope of him getting back to sleep now, so he scrambled out of bed and padded down the hall to the guest room, peeking in through the half-open door. Ash was, of course, exactly where Stiles had left him last night, but now he had Russell sprawled on top of him, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow. At the foot of the bed, Fallon was curled up as a wolf, but she lifted her head when Stiles looked in, and her tail wagged once in welcome.

Stiles leant his shoulder against the doorjamb and folded his arms across his chest, smiling a little at the tableau laid out in front of him. “So, is now a bad time to mention that I’ve figured out what you lot have been hiding?” He asked conversationally, though keeping his voice quiet for Russell’s sake. Fallon went perfectly still, ears perked and eyes fixed unerringly on Stiles. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, the small instinctual part of his brain reacting with panic at having the undivided attention of a predator. Then, slowly, she cocked her head and narrowed her eyes slightly, which Stiles took as a cue to say more. “I’m surprised I didn’t figure it out before. You’ve got your dad’s eyes.”

The stare-off lasted another few seconds, but then Fallon huffed, and slid over to the edge of the bed. By the time she got there, she was human, and she perched on the edge with her hands tucked under her legs. “You still figured it out pretty quickly.”

“Peter figured it out first.” Stiles reminded her.

Fallon shrugged. “Peter has the benefit of supernatural senses.” She retorted. “You don’t.”

“That is true.” Stiles agreed, feeling a little smug. “So, tell me about the future.” He prompted eagerly, pushing off the doorjamb to step into the room. He kicked the door shut behind him, then crossed to the wickerwork chair and settling into it, cross-legged.

Fallon twisted to keep him in view. “I’m… not sure if that’s a good idea.” She pointed out hesitantly. “Time-travel’s not exactly… encouraged. It’s really dangerous. I don’t know what kind of effect we’ve had already or-… It’s just… I’m not sure I should tell you anything.”

“Well, I guess that depends on how time-travel really works.” Stiles mused. “I mean, is it that everything is actually written in stone, so the future can’t be changed, so all of this has already happened, so you can’t actually do any damage? Or are we talking like a multi-verse theory where by coming back, you’ve created a different timeline that could go in a completely different direction to the future you know, without actually doing any damage to _your_ future? I don’t really think you’re likely to cause an actual paradox and make the universe implode, because… well, if the universe is that fragile, I think it would have imploded already.” He concluded.

“That makes sense.” Fallon agreed, grinning. “But then, you did manage to convince me that werewolves were actually aliens from the moon when I was seven.” She told him.

Pointing dramatically at Fallon, Stiles gave a crow of triumph. “Oh-ho! I did, did I?” He asked, grinning widely. “That does actually sound like something I would do. So I’m still in the pack in… What, twenty? Twenty five years?” He asked.

Fallon blinked at him. “Twenty-seven.” She corrected vaguely, giving him a slightly wary, confused look. “You hadn’t figured that out yet?” She asked.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Should I have?” He asked.

Fallon hesitated, swallowed, then shook her head. “No. Sometimes it’s just hard to remember that…”

“That you’re in the past?” Stiles suggested.

“Yeah.” Fallon agreed, nodding emphatically. “Like, two days ago, when everyone just got on with the pack meeting without the Argents. I should have just kept my mouth shut, but-” She shrugged, grimacing.

“So Scott and Allison get back together, then?” Stiles concluded smugly. Then he did a double-take, going over what Fallon had said again in his head. “Wait, Argents, _plural_?” He questioned in shock. “As in Allison _and_ Chris?”

The look Fallon gave him was cautious and wary, but also strangely amused. “Yes, Chris is part of the pack in the future.” She said slowly. “By his own volition, and not because of Allison or anything. In fact, I think Chris became an official part of the pack before Allison did…” She added, frowning thoughtfully.

Stiles could only squint at her, mouth hanging open. Finally, he managed to get over the initial shock, and shook his head, baffled. “Come again?” He asked.

Glancing up at him, Fallon nodded. “Yeah. Chris joined the pack before Allison did.”

“ _How_?” Stiles demanded.

“Apparently, there were faeries involved. And another pack trying to invade. The way Uncle P tells it, it was all very dramatic. Of course, he could have been making it all up.” Fallon explained vaguely.

“You realise you’re telling me all this without actually telling me anything at all?” Stiles pointed out irritably. Fallon smiled sweetly at him, looking distinctly smug, and Stiles felt a chill run the length of his spine.

“Oh, god. Is _Lydia_ your mother?!” He yelped, staring in horror.

Behind Fallon, Russell let out a groan and a muffled complaint about the noise. Fallon glanced over her shoulder and patted his foot in apology before looking back at Stiles. “…Biologically, yeah.” She said carefully, her tone oddly guarded.

“Oh, right. Two dads.” Stiles remembered.

“That’s right.” Fallon agreed, watching Stiles very carefully.

Stiles couldn’t understand what had her so wary for a moment, but then he remembered Fallon saying, oh so carefully, how she’d assumed he was Derek’s lupa, even though she’d barely seen them interacting at all. His brain seemed to grind to a halt, locked on that one impossible thought. It just wasn’t possible. Was it?

He stared at Fallon, mouth open as he tried to form words, but they jammed in his throat and got stuck on his tongue. Fallon was looking back at him, nervous and hesitant, and behind her, Russell was shoving himself up into a sitting position, yawning widely and blinking sleep out of his eyes. He scrubbed a hand over his face and through his hair, making his bed head that much worse, then stretched until his spine popped. “Mm- M’rnin’.” He mumbled.

Neither Stiles nor Fallon reacted to that, still caught in the moment of revelation and waiting for a reaction. Russell blinked blearily, squinting first at the back of Fallon’s head, then over at Stiles. “S’up, guys?” He asked. Fallon waved a hand at him vaguely, and Russell subsided, though he was still eyeing them both in confusion.

The door opened and Scott shuffled in, a matching confused, concerned expression on his face. “Stiles? You ok, dude?” He asked, coming to stand beside the wicker chair that Stiles was flopped in. “Dude?” Scott pressed.

“I- uh…” Stiles tried, then shook his head and went back to staring at Fallon. “Wh- _Me_?” He choked out, pointing to himself.

Fallon nodded, then offered a tentative smile.

Stiles suddenly felt as though he was seeing her for the first time. His head spun with the realisation that this was _his daughter_ sitting in front of him. His _kids_ , he amended, looking over Fallon’s shoulder at Russell. He was looking at his future, right there. That was where he would be in twenty-seven years time; sending Fallon off to college and helping Russell figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. With _Derek_.

“Whoa! Hey, Stiles, _breathe_.” Scott’s voice broke through the buzzing fog of shock, and Stiles realised that he hadn’t actually been breathing. He gasped in a breath, coughed, and ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair as though he was trying to scrub his brain clean. “Stiles, what’s wrong?” Scott demanded, crouching down beside the chair and studying Stiles’ face solemnly.

“I- It’s- I’m just- I have no idea how to-” He began, but got derailed from trying to figure out how to explain the mess his mind had just become by the mess his mind had just become. “With _Derek_? For _real_?” He asked Fallon.

“Yeah.” Fallon confirmed. “Is that… really such a surprise?”

Stiles blinked at her. “Well, _yeah_.” He stressed. “I mean, we barely get on unless one of us is five minutes away from dying, he’s constantly threatening me with bodily harm and I _enjoy_ annoying the fuck out of him. And _anyway_ , have you _seen_ him? He’s so far out of my league it’s not even funny.” All of his protests were accompanied by dramatic gestures, hands twitching through the air with all the frustration and disbelief he was feeling at the moment.

At Stiles’ side, Scott’s eyes widened comically as he caught on to the subject of the conversation. He looked like he wanted to protest, or just exclaim in abject shock, but he was stopped when Fallon laughed, pressing her knuckles to her lips to try and stifle her mirth, and Russell grinned. “Yeah, and?” He asked. “That pretty much sounds like what you’re like in the future. Except, you know, with enough affection underneath to give everyone cavities.”

“Wh- really?” Stiles pressed.

“Lydia is fond of saying the two of you communicate best when you’re snarking at each other.” Fallon told him.

“Huh…” Stiles muttered.

Scott squinted at him incredulously. “You’re- Are you really seriously considering this?” He asked, like the idea was completely ludicrous.

Stiles couldn’t exactly blame him. Coming from anyone else, he would have rejected the idea straight up. But he was also a little bit irrationally annoyed by Scott’s disbelief. “I can’t exactly _argue_ when it’s coming from _mine and Derek’s kids from the future_.” He pointed out, gesturing at the trio on the bed.

The look that crossed Scott’s face was a mixture of thoughtful and petulant, as though he didn’t want to think about it, but he couldn’t really deny Stiles’ argument either. That made Stiles feel a little vindicated. Finally, he looked up at Stiles. “But it’s _Derek_.” He countered.

“Hey.” Russell snarled.

Scott bristled.

“Shut up, both of you.” Stiles interrupted before an argument could actually start. Both Russell and Scott subsided with half sheepish, half mutinous looks in his direction. “Look, I’m not saying I entirely get it, because so far, my feelings towards Derek have pretty much been distrust, annoyance, fear and reluctant attraction.” Stiles began, and when Scott gave him an agreeing look, he held up a hand. “ _But_.” He stressed. “I figure, if in at least one future timeline, I’ve been raising kids with him for nearly twenty years, there’s gotta be some serious potential there, and I’m not gonna rule that out just cause I think he’s scary as hell.”

“He’s a giant softie, really.” Fallon pointed out, smiling warmly.

Stiles fixed her with his most deadpan look. “He’s threatened to rip my throat out. With his teeth.” He informed her with an edge of dark humour.

“But he _didn’t_ rip your throat out with his teeth.” Russell pointed out

Stiles glared at him. “He bashed my head against a steering wheel!”

“Whoa- _what_?!” Scott and Russell yelped in tandem.

“Ok, so I’d kind of been sexually objectifying him a little before that, which wasn’t cool like at all, and I get that, but _overkill much_?” Stiles reasoned, though he turned indignant at the end. Scott looked too furious for words, and Russell looked downright horrified, but Fallon was frowning and drew in a breath like she was about to say something, but then thought better of it, and shut her mouth again. “What?” Stiles prompted warily.

Fallon eyed him, gauging his sincerity, then sighed and relented. “I know that you’re an only child, but… surely you and Scott rough-house on occasion?” She asked carefully. Stiles nodded, and went to point out that there was a world of difference, but Fallon ploughed on without giving him the chance. “Well, werewolves do that too. A lot. Our instincts drive us to naturally be more active than most humans, and pent up energy has a similar effect on us to the full moon… But it’s different for us. We’re faster, stronger, and- and we’re _so_ much more durable.” She paused, watching Stiles closely to make sure she was driving her point home. “A broken bone to us is what an over-hard shove is to you.”

Stiles gaped at her. “You’re trying to tell me that Derek slamming my face into a steering wheel was actually just a- a ‘don’t pull that shit again, bro’ punch on the arm?”

“Well, yes.” Fallon agreed, wincing. “Sometimes wolves forget that humans are just more fragile… but it’s completely unlike Dad to forget that you’re human. You actually argue a lot, about that.” She added, smiling faintly. “You complain that Dad treats you like you’re made of glass, Dad argues that if you didn’t throw yourself into danger all the time, he wouldn’t have to be constantly on the look out for you.”

“We haven’t found a solution, then?” Stiles wondered.

“You usually get distracted snogging each other before you reach that point of the argument, so we’ve always figured it didn’t really need one, you know?” Russell pointed out.

Scott gagged, earning him a dirty look from Russell, while Stiles went a little pink. “It’s usually right after Dad’s said something about not wanting to live without you, having to protect what’s precious to him, or something like that.” Fallon added, smirking like she knew what she was doing to Stiles, telling him things like that.

Which was to say that there was an upsurge of warm, fuzzy, fluttery kind of feelings in Stiles’ chest that he was entirely unprepared to deal with. “Shut up.” He told her, and she grinned at him, but obligingly didn’t say another word. “How’s things for Scott in the future?” He asked to change the subject, while also hopping from the wickerwork chair to the desk chair and booting up his laptop, which he’d left there last night.

“Good.” Russell offered simply.

Stiles shot him a look over his shoulder. Russell looked unrepentant, but the annoying grin on his face dropped when Scott asked “Do I ever get back with Allison?”

Before Russell could open his mouth, Fallon covered it with her hand. “Don’t wait for her.” She advised mildly. Scott wilted, and he looked so miserable that Fallon took pity on him. “Love doesn’t only happen once, you know.” She told him, smiling encouragingly and ignoring Russell when he started biting her hand. “You’re going to find someone you love just as much as you love Allison right now. And it’s gonna be really complicated, and it’s going to hurt, but it’s worth it. You just have to remember to keep an open mind, and an open heart.” Fallon concluded.

“That’s annoyingly vague.” Scott complained. “Oh, hey. Do I ever become a vet?” He asked hopefully. Stiles snorted in amusement at how easy Scott’s train of thought was to follow, but he refrained from commenting as he checked a few of the online forums he was signed up to.

“Yes. You take over Alan’s practice when he retires.” Fallon told him.

“Really?” Scott pressed, beaming.

Russell shook off Fallon’s hand and shot her a dirty look before answering Scott. “It actually wasn’t all that long ago that you took over. For us, I mean. But you’ve been a full vet for longer than I can remember.” He said with a shrug.

“Uh, guys.” Stiles interrupted, even though he was loathe to do it. Everyone turned to look at him, and he pointed to the website he was currently looking at. It was a local news site, the Beacon Hills Tribune Online, and on the front page was an article wondering over Beacon Hills alarming amount of ‘animal attacks’. “I think there’s been another murder.”

“Another?” Fallon asked as Scott crossed the room to lean over Stiles’ shoulder and speed-read the article.

“Yeah, the day you arrived- Oh my god, was that seriously only two days ago?! Jesus Christ. Anyway, yeah, a couple of days ago, this guy got _severely_ mauled in a car park. Like, completely ripped apart, not just clawed up a bit. And now another one’s been found in an alley behind the old cinema. They haven’t identified the victim yet, it seems, but yeah…” Stiles trailed off as he scrolled down to show the pictures that had been taken of the crime scene, though from a distance.

“Ugh.” Scott recoiled from the pictures in disgust, and Stiles made an agreeing sound. “We’re thinking this isn’t a coincidence, right?”

“Right. My money’s on the Alpha Pack, at the moment, but I’m a little confused, because they’ve been around for a couple of weeks, apparently, and these killings only started a couple of days ago.” Stiles explained, squinting at the computer in annoyance.

“Unless they were just covering their tracks better, before.” Russell suggested.

Stiles straightened. “Point.” He agreed, and brought up a search for missing persons in Beacon Hills over the last two weeks. There was nothing. Everyone slumped in disappointment, and Stiles sighed. “Good thinking, anyway.” He complimented half-heartedly.

“Thanks, Pops” Russell replied, sounding decidedly pleased.

Stiles did a double take. “That’s… that’s weird.” He announced, pointing somewhat dramatically at Russell, who had the decency to look sheepish. Stiles debated whether to push the issue, but realised it was pointless, because it was _true_ , and he flopped back into the chair, flapping a hand at Russell dismissively. “Ugh.”

“Do you think they’re doing it for a reason?” Fallon asked thoughtfully, tactfully breaking the awkward silence that had been building. Stiles glanced at her, slightly puzzled. “I was just wondering if it might not be… recreational?” She suggested, looking a little ill as she said it.

Grimacing, Stiles looked back at the article on the computer. “You mean like how normal people might get together with a movie, the Alpha pack are whiling away their evenings brutally ripping people apart?” He paraphrased.

Fallon nodded. “If they’ve been hanging around, not making a move, maybe some of them got bored.”

“Some idea of a good time.” Stiles muttered in disgust. “Yeah, that’s possible, but I’m not going to rule out that it might be some kind of… twisted way to claim territory or some freaky ritual. Or even bait to lure out Derek, or a distraction for my dad so that he’s more focused on the violent deaths than on something less glaringly obvious, but even more sinister.”

“That’s a lot of possibilities.” Scott pointed out, wincing.

Stiles groaned and slumped over the desk. “There are too many variables. I basically know nothing about how an Alpha Pack even works, who they are, why they want Derek to join them, why they’re working together, when by all logic, they should be at each other’s throats…”

“I know their names?” Scott offered, and Stiles sat bolt upright like he was on a spring. His best friend grimaced apologetically for not sharing the information earlier. “There’s Kali and Julia, but I think Julia’s their emissary or something, because she was a magic-user. Ennis. Deucalion, he’s blind, but really completely terrifying anyway, and the others were all treating him with major respect. And then twins, about our age, Ethan and Aiden.”

“Last names?” Stiles asked, but Scott only shrugged. “Right, well, there can only be so many Deucalions about. Thanks, Scott.” He added absently, most of his attention already on the computer and the search tabs he was opening up. He linked his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. “Lets see if I can find these bastards.”


	11. Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me start off with my sincerest apologies for taking so very long to update this. I have a whole bunch of excuses, not least of all being finishing up the first draft of an original trilogy (you can find more info about it, and my other published work, [here](http://setaripendragon.wordpress.com/original-works/)). And thank you to everyone who read, subscribed, or left kudos, you're the reason I love writing this. And an extra big thank you, lots of love and cookies to everyone who reviewed, because YOU are the reason I sat my butt down and wrote this goddamned chapter. Every review I got was motivation to write more. I love you guys.
> 
> I'm not going to make any promises about the next chapter, because the next several months are looking to be very busy for me, but I do promise that I am NOT abandoning this. It just... might take a while.
> 
> And finally, one more piece of shameless self-advertising: If you want to keep an eye on what I'm doing while I'm procrastinating on this, head on over to [my writing tumblr](http://setaripendragon.tumblr.com/).

“This is hopeless!” Stiles burst out severa hours later, slumping back in his chair and pouting irritably at the computer screen. Apart from a minor interruption when his dad stuck his head in to let him know he was needed down at the station – Stiles wasn’t surprised, after reading about another brutal ‘animal attack’ – he had been trawling through the net and all the files on his laptop for any mention of an alpha werewolf called Deucalion. “All I’m getting is that bloody stupid myth about Prometheus and Noah’s Arc.”

“What?” Scott asked, frowning over at Stiles from where he was sitting on the floor with a pile of books on supernatural lore. Fallon and Russell were sprawled out around him, both of them with their noses in books, too.

“Deucalion is the son of Prometheus in Greek mythology, and he’s the star of a story that’s basically identical to Noah’s Arc.” Stiles explained vaguely. “My god, if this guy picked this name himself, then he has the biggest hero-complex ever. Myth-Deucalion is basically the saviour of the entire human race, the reason we’re not so susceptible to sin, also half a god and the son of the guy who gave us fire and basically kick-started our entire development. Fucking hell. What asshole names himself ‘ _Deucalion_ ’?”

“Are we sure he picked it himself?” Fallon checked. “Couldn’t his parents have been those awful my-child-is-super-extra-special types?”

Stiles shook his head. “He could be foreign, I guess, but there’s no birth record for a Deucalion in the states in the last hundred and fifty years, so unless werewolves live twice as long as humans, I have to go with he’s just full of himself.”

“We tend to live slightly longer than humans, just thanks to being quicker to heal from the things that kill most old people, but that’s still only going to add maybe ten or so years to our average _natural_ life expectancy.” Fallon replied, deliberately stressing the word with a dry look on her face, to which Stiles responded with a commiserating nod.

“So yeah, he’s an asshole and probably thinks he’s the saviour of all mankind. Or werewolf-kind, probably. Maybe that’s what they’re trying to do? Put together an Alpha Pack to survive some sort of apocalypse – god, I hope they’re not _planning_ an apocalypse – so that then they can repopulate the earth with only werewolves?” Stiles wondered, spinning idly from side to side in the chair and staring without seeing at the computer screen.

“Well that’s just great.” Russell muttered.

Fallon and Scott’s heads both snapped up at the same time, eyes a little glazed. “Your phone’s ringing, Stiles.” Scott announced, and Stiles’ eyes widened before he scrambled out of the chair and out of the room, cursing under his breath and praying he’d reach it in time. He slammed into Scott’s room and fumbled trying to get his phone out of the pocket of yesterday’s jeans. It fell into his hand and he pressed the answer button as quickly as he could.

At that point, he took a moment to just breathe, before raising the phone to his ear and huffing out a greeting. “…Stiles, are you alright?” Derek asked warily in response.

“Peachy.” Stiles confirmed, getting to his feet and turning towards the door. It was as he stepped out into the hall and turned in the direction of the guest room that his earlier conversation with Fallon came back to him, and he nearly tripped over his own feet with the sudden awareness that he and Derek were going to end up _raising children_ _together_.

There was a disbelieving silence on the other end that Stiles missed most of, wrapped up in his own internal freak-out. “Really?” Derek finally asked.

“Yup. I’m fine. Completely fine. Just fine. Nothing to worry about. Why did you call again?” Stiles babbled, cutting himself off a little desperately before he could say anything he would _really_ regret. There were times he hated the way his mouth seemed to run without any form of permission from his brain, and moments like this were at the top of the list.

“Your heartbeat is going crazy. I can heart it over the phone. What’s wrong?” Derek demanded, apparently not one to be put off.

“ _Oh my god_.” Stiles complained, finally getting his feet to move again and heading back to the guest room because he couldn’t actually handle this conversation alone. “Nothing’s _wrong_ , asshole. I’m- Ok, I’m a bit flustered because I left my phone in Scott’s room and I nearly didn’t get to it in time, but-” He defended as he re-entered the guest room. Scott was looking up at him with sympathy and a touch of pity, while Russell was trying desperately hard not to laugh and even Fallon was smiling a little bit.

“You’re lying.”

“Stop that.” Stiles snapped, cringing.

Somewhere in the background, Stiles could hear a muffled voice saying something, but he couldn’t make out the words. Apparently the werewolves in the room could, because Scott’s face darkened, while Fallon only rolled her eyes and called “Hello, Uncle P. It’s nothing to worry about. Stiles just has a lot on his mind right now.”

Stiles didn’t need to be a werewolf to hear the sudden burst of laughter from Peter after just a moment’s pause. “Oh my god, Derek, your Uncle is such an _asshole_. Tell him to stop laughing at my pain.” He complained.

“He can hear you.” Derek replied dryly, over the muffled sounds of Peter talking. “Peter, shut up.” He added, though it sounded a little muffled to Stiles. A moment later the sound was back to being clear. “I was calling because Peter’s narrowed the possible spells used on Isaac down to about three, and the most likely cures need someone who knows him well and has magic.”

“So basically me, because Peter doesn’t know him well enough, and no one else has magic?” Stiles checked.

“Yeah.” Derek confirmed.

“I’ll come too.” Scott offered, and Stiles shot him a smile and an accepting nod, he was about to say that it sounded like a good idea, when Scott’s face darkened. “I don’t care if you think there’s no point.” He snapped suddenly, and it took Stiles a moment to realise that obviously, Peter had said something that Stiles couldn’t hear, and Scott was talking to _him_ , not Stiles. “Unlike some people, I actually care what happens to Isaac.” Scott added sharply.

It was the strained look on Russell’s face that reminded Stiles that Peter was still pack more than twenty – twenty-seven, Fallon had said – years down the line. More than that, he realised, remembering how easily affectionate Fallon had been around him. He was ‘Uncle P’ to Stiles’ _kids_. “Hey, Scott.” He called, speaking right over whatever snarky response Peter had been making on the other end of the phone. “Remember what I said last night?” He prompted.

Scott frowned at him. “About…?”

“Peter.”

There was a moment where Scott’s frown became more like a scowl, but then he sighed and mumbled something that might have been affirmative. “I still don’t like him.” He added, a touch louder, and distinctly petulant.

“Dude, neither do I.” Stiles agreed, ignoring the ‘I’m wounded, Stiles!’ he heard Peter shout, and the following snarl from Derek telling him to shut up. “But perspective. Bigger fish, and all that.” He concluded. Scott conceded by pulling a face, but nodding reluctantly. Stiles nodded back in satisfaction and returned his attention to the phone. “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Good.” Derek replied, and hung up before Stiles could get another word in.

“Really. Phone etiquette is a thing, Derek. Learn it.” Stiles informed the disconnected phone irritably. He rolled his eyes as he adjusted his grip on the phone and lowered it to his side. “I guess I’d better get dressed, huh?” He said to the room at large, earning a small snicker from Russell. He headed back to Scott’s room and threw yesterday’s clothes on, then he was back in the guest room long enough to snag Scott and tell Fallon and Russell to keep researching.

Once they were in the car and moving, Stiles found he’d really rather be anywhere else right now. Even in the middle of a giant life-threatening supernatural death match. The car was far too quiet, and it was letting his brain spin off in uncomfortable directions. Like Derek. And _their kids_. From the _future_.

“Stiles…?” Scott asked when they were halfway there. “Are you-”

“Don’t ask that question, Scott.” Stiles interrupted, his leg starting to bounce with nervous energy. “Ok, just- just imagine you’d been told by some cute little blonde kid with brown eyes that you and _Jackson_ were going to wind up married with kids, being ‘affectionate enough to give everyone cavities’ and tell me how _you’d_ feel!”

“But Jackson’s a dick.” Scott replied. Stiles rolled his head sideways to stare at Scott pointedly until he caught on. “I mean-” Scott hastened to add once he caught Stiles’ look. “More of a dick than Derek is, usually.”

Stiles’ eyebrows rose, but he bit back the comment that was on the tip of his tongue. “Exact degrees of assholery notwithstanding, you see my point? Even you have to admit that Jackson is attractive. Doesn’t mean he’s not a dick, but he’s very nice to look at.”

Scott nodded slowly. “I guess…”

“And he does have his moments of not-a-complete-asshole. You know? Like helping me set Peter on fire, and getting Lydia to the hospital, and letting Derek and Peter kill him when he realised he was killing people against his will.” Stiles pointed out.

“Ok.” Scott agreed, but he didn’t look like he was buying it.

Stiles waved a hand in the air. “So, back to my original point, Scott.”

Scott thought back, his face screwing up a little with discomfort at the idea. “I wouldn’t believe it.” He admitted finally, shaking his head. “And I don’t really believe it, with you and Derek, either. I mean, it’s slightly less unbelievable than – ugh – me and Jackson, but… I don’t know man, I don’t see it working, is all.” He confessed, shrugging.

“And yet, evidence to the contrary sitting in your guest room!” Stiles exclaimed with a wild, flailing gesture.

“Hey, watch it, I’m driving.” Scott reminded him.

Stiles drew his arms back a little sheepishly. “Sorry. But my point is; who am I to argue with a messenger from the actual future? It’s clearly _possible_ that we wind up in a relationship together. And it can’t be entirely dysfunctional, because those kids don’t seem too fucked up.” He rambled, managing to contain his gesturing to his side of the car. “And now, whenever I’m around Derek, it’s _all_ I can think about. You know, how this guy might be _the one_. The one I live with and start a family with and argue-until-we-start-making-out with. And that’s just fucking awkward because Derek _hasn’t got a clue_.”

“Yeah, ok, that’s fair.” Scott agreed.

“ _And_!” Stiles stressed. “I haven’t got any idea what to do with this information! Do I just leave it alone? _Can I_ just leave it alone? Do I tell him? _What_ , exactly, do I tell him? ‘We’re destined to be together so date me’? Or ‘I don’t know if I like you, but I’d like to find out’?” If Stiles’ tone wasn’t making it abundantly clear that he didn’t think any of these options were viable, the deeply unimpressed look on his face was sure to do the trick. “God, Scott. This is- this is too much on top of everything else.”

Scott looked over at him again, sympathy clear in his eyes and the little frown on his brow. “Just… Just stop worrying about it for now, then. You don’t have to not worry completely!” He added quickly when Stiles made an irritated sound. “I just mean… whenever you start to think about it, just remind yourself that it’s a problem for later?”

Stiles slumped back in his seat with a huff. “I guess.”

“We’re nearly there.” Scott warned him. “So we’d probably better stop talking about this, before we get into werewolf-hearing range.”

“Yeah. Good idea.” Stiles agreed emphatically.

Moments later, they were pulling up outside the abandoned train station. _Problem for later_ , Stiles reminded himself as he got out of the car and walked inside with Scott. They found Derek’s entire pack inside the train car, save for Jackson, who was presumably still on Danny-watch. Boyd and Erica were perched on seats towards the back, out of the way but close enough to be involved, while Derek and Peter stood at Isaac’s head where he was laid out in one of the makeshift beds on the floor. “Stiles. Scott.” Derek greeted stiffly, nodding to them. Stiles was hyper-aware of the way Derek’s eyes raked over him critically, clearly still perturbed by Stiles’ reaction over the phone.

“Hey.” Stiles replied, and moved straight on. “So, how is this counter-spell – cure, or whatever – going to work?” He asked, looking between Derek and Peter.

“Well, we’re going to try the cure for the basic druidic sleep spell, and see how that works. Depending on what happens, there are a few options for where we go after that.” Peter explained, wicked amusement lighting up his eyes as he watched Stiles.

“Ok.” Stiles agreed. “I should warn you I have no idea at all what I’m doing, so you’re going to have to walk me through it.”

“Yes, that is abundantly clear.” Peter agreed dryly. Stiles’ eyes snapped over to him suspiciously, because there was more weight to those words than the conversation really warranted, and Peter’s raised eyebrow was the confirmation Stiles had been looking for. He opened his mouth to make a witty and cutting retort, but Peter talked over him. “Druidry is generally a lot less active than witchcraft and magecraft, because it focuses mainly on the telluric currents.”

“The what?” Scott interrupted.

“Electric currents in the earth.” Stiles told him.

“Precisely. It gives them a great deal of insight into the world around them, even some foresight, depending on how talented they are, but on the whole, it’s a passive art.” Peter finished his explanation succinctly.

“Except Julia was nothing even close to passive.” Scott pointed out.

Peter dipped his head in acknowledgement. “When it becomes corrupt, druidry could be considered the most powerful and devastating of the various disciplines. Because it warps and twists the energy of nature itself, the energy in every living thing.”

“You think that’s what she did to Isaac?” Stiles interjected.

Again, Peter nodded. “I imagine, given that it was done in the heat of battle, she instinctively reached out and twisted Isaac’s natural energy in a way that would render him harmless.” He paused, giving Stiles a pointed look. “So you will need to untwist it.”

“How?”

Peter sucked in a soft breath through his teeth, caught somewhere between impatience and calculation. “Close your eyes.” He ordered after a long moment. Stiles narrowed his eyes at Peter, but then relented and slowly closed them. “You know where everyone is, you can remember their positions?”

“Yeah…” Stiles answered slowly, frowning at Peter even though he still had his eyes shut.

“Focus on that.” Peter ordered.

Now Stiles’ eyebrow were arched in incredulity, but he obeyed, mentally reaffirming to himself where everyone was in the rickety old train car. Peter in front of him, Derek a little further off, Isaac on the floor at his feet, Scott beside him, and Erica and Boyd somewhere behind and off to the side of him. Something shifted, and Stiles frowned, tilting his head a little. “Scott, where are you going?” He blurted out.

“And he’s got it.” Peter concluded proudly.

Stiles eyes flashed open to stare at Peter. “Wait, what did I get?” He asked dumbly.

“How did you know Scott had moved?” Peter retorted.

Stiles shrugged, turning to look at Scott who was now three paces behind him and staring at him incredulously. “I don’t know? I heard him?”

“No. You didn’t.” Boyd asserted, and Stiles realised that Scott wasn’t the only one giving him impressed, confused or even a slightly awed look. Erica, Boyd were both openly impressed, and – Stiles glanced around to check – even Derek was staring at him with his eyebrows raised and just the barest hint of a smile curling his lips. “We could barely hear him moving, so you certainly couldn’t have.” Boyd added, drawing Stiles attention back to him.

“But…” Stiles frowned. “I don’t know, I just- I _felt_ something change.”

“You could sense his natural energy.” Peter concluded, exasperated. “All you need to do is do that for Isaac, then learn to reach out with your own energy to hold and manipulate his.”

“And that’s about as helpful as ‘don’t bend the spoon, imagine there is no spoon’.” Stiles retorted in frustration. “Thanks for that.” He added, looking down at Isaac. An uncomfortable sensation crawled up his spine, because Isaac was far too pale and still. He looked dead.

“Skin to skin contact will help.” Peter suggested.

Stiles shot him a look to express just how helpful he wasn’t being, but he did drop to his knees beside Isaac. His hands hung in the air for a moment as he tried to figure out where to put them, before he settled for just wrapping a hand around Isaac’s wrist. “Ok, here goes nothing.” He muttered, closing his eyes and trying to find the same awareness he’d had a moment ago.

Slowly, he became aware of an odd sensation on the very edge of his ability to sense, caught somewhere between touch and sound, a soft crackle, static fuzz around every person in the abandoned train car. Including Isaac, and the static emanating off him was stronger, tickling at Stiles’ fingertips almost like pins and needles. There was something off about it, he thought, something strangely discordant and fractured.

Almost instinctively, Stiles tried to sooth it back into it’s proper rhythm, not that he was exactly sure how he was doing it. The feeling under his hands got a little less painful, but there was definitely still something wrong. He tried again, trying to coax the ripples of energy back into a harmony. Which apparently was a mistake.

The energy – or whatever – bit back, racing up along Stiles’ arm like an electric shock, and he cried out, flinching away from Isaac without thinking about it. He landed on his ass on the floor of the train car, and let his shoulders twitch themselves into stillness before he opened his eyes. He knew before he did that Derek was much closer than he had been before, and sure enough, when he looked up, Derek was standing very close to where both Isaac and Stiles were sprawled on the floor. “What happened?” He demanded, reaching down to haul Stiles back up onto his feet.

“I don’t know. It- He- Whatever, it shocked me.” Stiles tried to explain. He looked down at his hands, half expecting to see some kind of wound, burns or rashes or even blackened skin, given the pain still resonating in his nerve. But his hands looked fine, the same as always.

“Not a simple druidic sleep spell then.” Peter mused.

Derek growled at him, a purely wolfish sound that Stiles could _feel_ , because Derek’s hands were still on his upper arms. Goosebumps broke out all over his arms and shoulders as he suddenly became hyper-aware of how close Derek was standing. He could smell the leather of his jacket and see the individual hairs that made up his stubble. He became conscious of how, despite his clear irritation and anger with Peter, his hands on Stiles were gentle.

“I never said this was a guaranteed fix.” Peter pointed out around a tiny huff of laughter.

Stiles jolted out of his moment of transfixed paralysis to turn his head and narrow his eyes at Peter. “You didn’t tell me it might _bite back_ , either!” He snapped, then flushed at the deeply amused look Peter was levelling at him. “God, why are you such an _asshole_?” Stiles complained, lifting a hand to rub at his face in the hopes of forcing his blush to die down. The move dislodged Derek’s hand, and the other was retracted as if it had been burned. Stiles pretended he hadn’t even noticed. Pretended he wasn’t just a tiny bit disappointed.

“Is there anything else we can try?” Boyd asked, and Stiles appreciated the subtle nudge back towards the issue at hand.

Peter hummed thoughtfully. “If the spell is fighting back, that means it’s got hooks in Isaac beyond his natural energies. Try telling him to wake up.” He suggested abruptly.

Stiles stared at him in disbelief, but Peter only looked back, obviously waiting. “Wake up, Isaac.” Stiles deadpanned, trying to express with his voice alone just how dumb the whole idea was. He thought he did a pretty good job, and even got a snicker out of Erica.

“Say it like you _mean it_.” Peter corrected in exasperation, rolling his eyes dramatically. “This is _witchcraft_ , Stiles, not kindergarten. Focus on the words, on the entirety of their meaning, of every nuance of the concepts they represent. Pour it into your voice. Make your words _powerful_.”

Sighing in aggravation, Stiles pressed his lips together in a frustrated pout, then reluctantly closed his eyes. He focused on the meaning of the words, on what he wanted to happen that he was conveying with his voice, and tried again. “Wake up.” His voice had an odd edge to it now, laced with something that resonated.

“His name. Say his name.” Peter insisted.

“ _Isaac_. Wake up.” Stiles repeated, but he felt that strange power slipping away from him before he’d even finished. He heard Peter click his tongue in disappointment, and opened his eyes slowly, feeling put out and irritated.

“What happened? Why didn’t it work?” Scott asked, looking between Stiles and Peter for an explanation.

“I don’t know Isaac well enough to use his name like that.” Stiles explained. “I’m guessing, to use someone’s name, you need to really and truly _know_ them.”

“For something like this, yes.” Peter confirmed. “Some things, you only need a passing knowledge. If, for example, you’re using them as a focal point to change the world _around_ them, you don’t need to know them very well at all, but to actually affect that person, to wake them from a coma-” Peter gestured at Isaac to indicate his point “-you need to be able to wake _all of them_ up, not just a part.”

There was silence in the wrecked train car as everyone digested this. “So what else can we try?” Stiles asked suddenly, actually startling Peter a little, jolting him out of his thoughts. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he assessed their options.

“Let me try.” Scott blurted out.

Everyone turned to stare at him in confusion and, in Stiles’ case, disbelief. “What?”

Scott met Stiles’ gaze, jaw set and eyes wide with earnest conviction. “Let me try to wake him up. It just needs to be someone who knows him well, right?”

While Stiles gaped at Scott, trying and failing to process his, frankly ludicrous, suggestion, Peter interjected in a very patronising tone. “You’re forgetting that it needs to be someone with magic. And you, Scott, for all your, ah, virtues-” he said the word like it tasted dirty on his tongue “-don’t have that particular talent.”

Scott shot him a scowl. “So Stiles can do the magic bit.”

“I don’t think it works like that, Scott.” Stiles informed him. “And besides, you’ve known Isaac for, what? A month? You can’t possibly know him well enough for this. The only people who probably did are all _dead_.”

“Isaac’s dad didn’t _know him_.” Scott retorted angrily. “You can’t _know_ someone like Isaac and do shit like that to them.”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, sympathetic to Scott’s feelings but frustrated with his stubbornness. “Dude-” He began, but Peter cut him off.

“It won’t hurt to try, I suppose.” The older man conceded. Stiles turned to blink at him in surprise, and found him studying Scott with a deeply shrewd look in his eyes and a hint of an intrigued smirk on his lips. He seemed to shake him self out of his thought and smiled cruelly, glancing at Stiles. “Well, that’s not entirely true. You’ll be using him as a conduit, so there is a chance you’ll fry his brain and he’ll wind up a vegetable, but it’s a slim chance.”

“What?! No!” Stiles yelped, physically backing away to emphasise his unwillingness to risk turning his friend brain dead. “A _world_ of no!”

“Stiles.” Scott implored, looking at him with those big brown puppy eyes of his. “If there’s something we can do to help, we should try. Besides, I trust you. You won’t hurt me.”

“Not on purpose! But accidents happen, Scott!” Stiles protested.

“There has to be something else we can try.” Derek interjected. Stiles shot him a grateful look, even as Scott scowled at him.

Peter dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Well, yes, but I actually think this has a very good chance of working, no matter which spell was used.” He pointed out.

“What does that mean?” Stiles asked suspiciously.

Peter gave him a look that was all surprised innocence, which of course fooled absolutely no one. At their deadpan, sceptical looks, Peter smiled. “Let’s just see if I’m right before I start explaining my hypothesis.” He suggested.

Stiles glared at him, frowning slightly, thinking about everything he’d learned about Peter this morning. “I still don’t like it.” He announced irritably. “But if you’re _really_ sure it’ll work, then I guess I’ll give it a try.” He conceded.

“I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I do believe it’s our best bet.” Peter agreed.

“Alright.” Stiles sighed. “How do we do this?”

“You’ll all need skin contact with each other, and you are going to put all of your energy and focus into _believing_ that Scott can wake Isaac up, but if you can, keeping an eye on Isaac’s natural energies will help you gauge if it’s going to get dangerous.” Peter explained to Stiles, before turning to Scott. “Then you, Scott, should feel something, and when you do, you’ll say his name. You’ll need to be concentrating on everything that Isaac is, pour real _meaning_ into the word.”

Scott nodded solemnly, then moved to kneel by Isaac’s shoulder. Stiles still didn’t feel very good about the whole thing, but he reluctantly dropped down to his knees on Isaac’s other side. He put his right hand back over Isaac’s wrist, and as Scott reached out and cupped the side of Isaac’s face, Stiles put his other hand on Scott’s wrist, then closed his eyes. He tried to tell himself that Scott would be able to wake Isaac up, but doubts lingered.

He shook his head in irritation, firmly reminding himself that this was going to work because it _had_ to work. It was their best hope. And Scott believed he could do it. He believed _they_ could do it. Stiles would be a poor friend indeed if he couldn’t match his best friend’s faith in the two of them. Something shifted inside him, and the air seemed to ripple momentarily against his skin. He heard Scott gasp softly, and then his voice, resonating with power as he called Isaac’s name.

“ _Isaac Lahey_. Wake up.”

Before Scott had even finished, Stiles felt the shift under his right hand. The energy in Isaac seemed to peak, then settle back into a proper harmony, and it felt like a petal brushing across the skin of Stiles’ palm. Isaac groaned, and Erica whooped as Stiles opened his eyes, just in time to see the relieved grin break out across Scott’s face. “Wh'appened?” Isaac slurred, blinking rapidly, face scrunched up in discomfort. Then his eyes snapped wide with alarm and he bolted upright, forehead crashing into Scott’s. “Ow! Shit, sorry.” Isaac yelped out. Then he seemed to actually take in his surroundings. “What happened?” He asked again, a lot more coherently.

Scott and Erica dove into explaining with great enthusiasm, but even over their babbling, Stiles still heard when Peter let out a curious little hum and murmured “Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” Stiles asked, pushing himself back onto his feet and squinting suspiciously at Peter.

Peter glanced at Scott, who was completely distracted by Isaac, then looked back to Stiles. “I’m thinking I have even more questions for our charming guests.” He said mildly.

Stiles blinked, glancing quickly at Scott and Isaac still sitting on the floor, Erica and Derek hovering over them, then looked back to Peter. “No-!” He began, then looked at Scott again. “That’s not-… Well, shit.” He breathed in realisation.

Peter hummed again. “Indeed. Interesting.”


	12. Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the unexpected haitus. Here's the next chapter, at long last. It's less edited than I would like, but I figure you patient peeps deserve something sooner rather than later. I make no promises as to any sort of posting schedule, except that I hope I won't wind up making you wait as long for the next one as you did for this one.

As glad as he was that Isaac was better, Derek couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Stiles quite as skittish as he was at the moment, and that wasn’t even mentioning the sudden new layer of subtext in every conversation between Stiles and Peter. It was unnerving, and Derek wasn’t sure what to do about it.

For the moment, he simply sat and watched everyone cluster around Isaac. Peter, of course, was hanging back, but Stiles had been dragged into the group on the floor by Scott, and Boyd had joined them of his own volition, smiling faintly when Erica looped an arm over his shoulders and yanked him against her. They all kept talking over each other, updating Isaac on the Alpha pack and the warlock, asking what it had been like under the spell, and just chatting. Isaac looked a little overwhelmed, but not in a bad way, so Derek didn’t step in.

It was good to see the pack coming together, even if it had taken a crisis to get them to start acting like a pack. That itching discontent that had crawled through Derek's bones for the last several months was beginning to fade. It wasn't gone entirely, probably wouldn't be until he had a lupa, but it was enough that he felt the release of tension and found a small smile drifting onto his face despite himself.

Predictably, in Derek's opinion, that would be the moment that the peaceful atmosphere was shattered by a scream. It echoed terribly in Derek's ears, an old vicious panic rising in him at the sound. Every single werewolf in the den whipped around to stare off in the direction of the scream, even though it left them all looking at the metal side of the train car. Stiles, on the other hand, flinched inwards, and then looked to Derek with fear and confusion in his eyes. “Lydia.” He breathed, scrambling up.

“You heard that?” Isaac asked in surprise, even as he tried, and failed, to get to his feet. Scott pushed him back down looking concerned, and Isaac went with ill grace.

Stiles glanced down at him, looking even more confused than ever. “Heard what?”  
“The scream.” Derek answered, and felt a little bit guilty when he saw Stiles pale.

“No, I- I just felt something- Like… I don't know how to describe it, but Lydia's in trouble!” He stated with complete conviction.

Derek didn't question him. If Stiles was that sure the scream had come from Lydia, then he would believe him. “Scott, Boyd, stay with Isaac. Erica, Peter, with me and Stiles.” He instructed, and got three nods and an impatient 'of course' from Peter. Derek very carefully did not allow his surprise at Scott's obedience show on his face. He was fairly certain that if he drew any attention to it at all, it wouldn't happen again.

Instead, he headed out, the others on his heels. “Do we know where Lydia is?” Erica asked as they approached the cars.

“That was the direction of the Argent house.” Peter informed them.

“Do you have the entire map of Beacon Hills memorised or something?” Stiles snarked.

“No, I just like to know where the threats are.” Peter retorted. Stiles glanced over at him, then pulled a face and nodded reluctantly. Derek frowned, wondering what on earth had happened to make Stiles willing to give Peter the benefit of the doubt.

“We should take the Jeep.” Stiles suggested, when Derek moved towards the Camaro. “No offence to your car or anything, but my Jeep is sturdier, and also roomier.” He explained.

Derek considered him for a long moment, then nodded. “But I'll drive.” He decided, because Stiles hands were shaking slightly. It was no secret that Stiles had a massive crush on Lydia, and Derek remembered – all too well – what it felt like at that age to have someone you cared for like that in danger. Stiles was really in no fit state to drive.

Stiles had been drawing the keys out of his pocket when Derek spoke, and at his words his hand clenched tightly around his keys. There was a flash of furious denial on his face, before he paused, and gave Derek a similar look to the one Derek had just given him. A drawn out, thoughtful look as he mulled something over in his mind. “You damage my baby, and we will be having _serious words_.” He said finally, handing over the keys. “Seriously, one scratch, and you're in the doghouse for the rest of the _year_.”

Derek levelled him with a sceptical look, but got into the Jeep without complaint. The others piled in and they were off. “You know, for all that he doesn't seem to know what a speed limit is, Derek  _is_ a very careful driver.” Peter remarked, with an odd, heavy edge to his tone.

Stiles twisted in the passenger seat to glare daggers at Peter. “Like  _you_ can criticise anyone about not obeying the law.” He retorted, but Derek had the funny feeling that he wasn't answering Peter's words, but that odd other edge to his voice. With sudden clarity, he realised that somehow, they weren't talking about driving at all anymore.

“I'll have you know I've never crashed a car in my life. That I wasn't intending to, of course.” Peter retorted sweetly. “Which you know full well, Stiles, I think. Don't you?”

“You came damn close  _at least_ once.” Stiles shot back.

Peter tilted his head, then nodded slowly. “I suppose I did.”

That got a momentary pause from Stiles. “Do you regret it?” He asked, and his tone was oddly soft.

“Yes.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes, then nodded. “Good enough.” He decided, and settled back into his seat, putting an end to the conversation. Peter smiled and closed his eyes in evident contentment.

“Okay, what am I missing?” Erica demanded.

“Nothing you need worry about.” Peter replied mildly.

“Is it something  _I_ need to be worried about?” Derek asked, and although he was responding to Peter's words, he glanced over at Stiles to make it clear who he was talking to.

Stiles looked at him, and there was a strange expression on his face that Derek couldn't read beyond a hint of uncertainty. “No.” He said finally. “I doubt that'll stop you worrying, but I've got this, for now.” He decided.

“Alright.” Derek agreed. Stiles abruptly turned to look out of the window, his heartbeat picking up speed. Peter snickered, and Stiles flipped him off without looking. Stiles had been right, Derek was still worried about whatever was going on there, but he  _did_ trust Stiles to take care of it, except.. “You  _will_ tell me if you need help.” He instructed.

Stiles turned back to give him the stink eye, but Derek caught his gaze for a moment to give him an unwavering look. “Ugh, fine!” Stiles groaned, going back to looking out of the window. “Yes, I'll tell you if I need help. God. You're such a fucking hypocrite.”

Derek supposed he deserved that one. It rankled all the same. He devoted his attention entirely to the road, and soon enough, they were in the Argent’s neighbourhood. They were just coming up to a T-junction, when Stiles abruptly sat bolt upright and said “Left.”

“What?” Derek asked, even though he was changing direction already, the car swerving awkwardly across the road with his sudden change. “The Argent house is right.” He added, glancing across at Stiles.

Stiles was frowning out of the windshield, but his eyes were unfocused. “I know, but… Can’t you feel that?” He asked. He shook his head, then looked across at Derek, and his eyes weren’t so distant anymore.

“Feel what?” Derek echoed impatiently, and then “Which way?” as they came up to a crossroads.

“Straight across.” Stiles instructed, and Derek ignored the traffic-light changing to red as he approached, speeding up to make it across before the traffic started to flow again. “And it’s hard to describe. It’s… kinda like a static shock?” He mused, head cocking to one side as he thought. “Or… more like the static fuzz you get on old TV-screens? Turn right up here.” Derek turned, and immediately slammed his foot down on the breaks.

There was a battle going on in the middle of the street, in broad daylight. Derek wondered what the hell the people in the houses must be thinking, but didn’t concern himself with it for long. The warlock had his back to them, and he was shouting something in Latin. Beyond him, Derek could see Allison kneeling on the tarmac with Lydia, blood-soaked and pale, cradled in her lap. Argent was crouched behind the low wall separating two driveways, gun braced on the wall as he waited for an opening. The warlock’s attention, however, wasn’t on either of them, but Russell, who was picking himself up off the ground and launching himself at the warlock. He swung his staff, and the warlock dodged, but not quickly enough. The butt of the staff clipped his elbow, and his spell – Derek assumed it was a spell – cut off with a choked sound of pained rage as he staggered.

Derek remembered that the staff was made of mountain ash, and smiled grimly. Beside him, Stiles made a choked sound and scrabbled for the door handle. “Shit, Lydia…!” He breathed. Derek elbowed his own door open and jumped out, hearing the sounds of Erica and Peter doing the same in the back.

He’d barely got his feet on the tarmac when the warlock lashed out, barking a single word that had Russell flying back and slamming into a wall. He’d curled in on himself so he didn’t hit his head, but all the same, while a wolf would have just bounced back, Derek thought that might have been hard enough to break human bones. “ _Russell!_ ” Stiles yelped, unadulterated fear in his voice as he flung himself around the hood of the Jeep and raced to the boy’s side where he’d collapsed on the sidewalk. The sound of a gunshot rung out, but the warlock deflected them with a lazy wave of his hand.

Derek did not have time to deal with how bizarre that was, but he made a mental note to ask Stiles what the fuck was going on after the warlock had been dealt with. He strode forwards, shifting into the beta shift mid-stride and snarling to get the warlock’s attention away from Stiles. Over the warlock’s shoulder, he spotted another figure. A child – the unconscious boy, Derek realised, more from the unnervingly familiar scent of him than recognising his face – was standing in the road, looking almost grey he was so pale, leaning against a car parked on the side of the road as if he barely had the strength to stand.

Derek’s distraction, his shock at seeing a  _child_ on a battlefield, cost him. The warlock lashed out with a small knife, and caught Derek across the chest. He jerked backwards, the wound healing over at once, but the warlock was still smiling cruelly, eyeing Derek over the bloody blade with delight as he backed away several steps. “Like calls to like.” He said ominously.

Snarling, Derek charged towards him.

“Flames licking the sharp edge of steel.” The warlock hissed, a rapid little stream of words that seemed to echo much further than they should have. “Let the blade  _burn_ .” He finished, and the knife, with the blood still on it, was suddenly on fire. And so was Derek’s blood, both that on the blade and that which was still in his veins. His legs gave out under him, more from the sudden upsurge of memory, of the nightmares that still haunted his sleep, than the actual pain. Pain he could deal with, but the idea that  _this_ might have been what his family felt as they died stole all the strength from his limbs.

“ _No!_ ” A young, anguished voice cried out. “No,  _stop it_ !”

The pain stopped. Derek lifted his head just in time to see the warlock turn towards the boy with a black look on his face, which put his back to Peter.  _Big mistake_ , Derek thought hazily as he watched his uncle shift in mid-air, so that it was a wolf’s powerful jaws that bit into the distracted warlock’s side.

The warlock collapsed with an agonised yelp, and a shouted curse that had Peter jerking away, releasing the warlock and staggering backwards with a small, involuntary yip of pain. Derek tried to get his feet back under him again before the warlock could attack again, but he needn’t have worried. Another gunshot sounded, and this one clipped the warlock’s shoulder. He shouted something in Latin, frustration and pained rage lacing his voice, and vanished.

There was a moment, where everything was still as the tension of the fight leaked out of the air like a great sigh. Then everyone started moving at once. “Dad…!” Allison called, urgent with worry, and Argent tucked his weapon away as he hurried over to her. The young boy wobbled and half collapsed against the car he was leaning on, visibly shaking and smelling of exhausted strain. Russell immediately started towards his brother, despite the obvious pain he was in, but Peter got there first, while Stiles hovered around Russell, casting worried looks over at the other two and trying to get the stubborn red-head to “Stop moving, for fuck’s sake. You’re lucky your spine wasn’t broken! Look, Peter’s got him, he’ll be fine. Why are you still moving?!”

But Russell  _was_ moving at least, and the young boy smelt of exhaustion, yes, but not injury or death. Lydia, on the other hand, smelt only of blood and pain. So that was where Derek went, while Erica veered off towards Stiles. “How is she?” He asked lowly once he reached the place where the two Argents were kneeling in the road, bent over Lydia’s prone form.

“I’m  _fine_ .” Lydia bit out, very unconvincingly, given the way her voice shook.

“She needs a hospital.” Allison said, all steel and practicality, despite the quiver in her own voice. She was holding Lydia up while Argent field-dressed a large gash that ran all the way up her side, from hip to shoulder. He was wrapping something – his own jacket, Derek realised – tight about her middle to hold the wound together until she could get proper treatment.

Stiles came up at Derek’s shoulder. “Russell ought to be looked at by a proper doctor, too.” He said, sounding very subdued. A glance showed Derek that Stiles was looking down at Lydia with a strangely vulnerable expression. “We can take them both in the jeep- And Ash, too, if he needs-”

“He’s over-stretched himself.” Peter called, lifting Ash into his arms with ease, despite the boy’s weak protests. “No mundane hospital knows how to treat magical exhaustion. I can take him to Deaton’s.”

“Shit…” Stiles swore under his breath, suddenly looking rather alarmed. “Is he going to be okay? I didn’t even realise-” He suddenly frowned, then shook his head in sharp and jerky movements. “Never mind. Deaton’s. Yes. You do that. Erica! Get Russell in the Jeep!” He called, or snapped, rather.

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Erica sassed.

“No, I’m going with Ash-!” Russell began.

Stiles rounded on him. “You get your  _fucking_ ass in that  _fucking Jeep. Right now_ !”

Russell stared at him with wide eyes, completely stunned. Stiles gave him a hard look that did barely anything to hide just how scared he was underneath, and Russell deflated like an old balloon. Stiles didn’t wait for any more confirmation, just turned back to the Argents, both of whom were looking at him like he’d lost his mind. Derek left them to it, and went to make sure Russell got into the Jeep without hurting himself any more. Erica was not the most careful of people, and tended to be of the attitude that if you were still moving, you shouldn’t be a baby about it. Of course, this sometimes led to her making things worse than they needed to be.

He did keep his ear on Stiles, though, because there was a feeling like a powder-keg waiting to explode about him, and Derek didn’t know if he was more afraid of that, or the possibility that Stiles would  _shatter_ instead. “Probably best if you don’t come with us, Mr Argent.” Stiles was saying. “That way, we can explain this as teenagers being stupid. Are you okay to carry her, Allison?”

“Of course.” Allison snapped back, as Derek had to stop Erica just shoving Russell into the back of the Jeep. He seemed oddly subdued, which was just as confusing as Stiles sudden anger. From what Derek had seen of him so far, he would have expected Russell to snap  _back_ , instead of folding and obeying like this.

Stiles next words were quiet, further off, and Derek realised he must be talking to Peter. “He’s going to be alright, isn’t he?” 

“M’fine…” Ash mumbled, barely audible even to Derek’s wolf-hearing. Shaking his head to himself, Derek rounded the Jeep to hold the back door open for Allison as she lifted Lydia inside. Russell helped steady her as Allison climbed in after her.

“Deaton is very good at what he does.” Peter said, which wasn’t actually that reassuring.

Stiles’ voice dropped to a whisper, evidently meaning for his words to be for Peter alone, and if Derek hadn’t been deliberately listening to him, he might have missed it. But he was, so he didn’t. “You let him die on your watch, Peter, and I will set you on fire. Again.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” Peter replied serenely.

“Just so we understand each other.” Stiles said, then he was stalking towards the Jeep and folding himself into the driver’s seat.

Derek looked at the full-to-bursting vehicle. “Erica, go back to the den and tell everyone what’s happened.” He instructed.

“Are you sure you want to leave Peter alone with the kid?” She asked sceptically.

“I’ll go with them.” Argent announced, surprising both of them. “I want to talk to Deaton about this warlock anyway.” He added with a dark scowl.

Peter looked deeply unhappy about that, but when he opened his mouth to protest, Stiles leaned out of the window to point at him. “Don’t argue. Just  _go_ .” He snapped, and to Derek’s complete shock, Peter obeyed after only a cursory narrow-eyed look at Stiles. Chris shot his own look at Stiles, this one wary and assessing, before he followed Peter at a jog. It rolled right off Stiles, who was already busy starting the Jeep.

Derek hopped in, and barely managed to close the door before they were off, Stiles driving as fast as he dared while also trying very hard to keep the ride as smooth as he could. There was a tense silence in the car, like the calm before the storm, and Derek had no idea what to do with it. It was broken by Stiles, his voice sharp and brittle as he snapped “What the hell was Ash doing out there?” He demanded, glancing into the rear-view mirror. Derek glanced at him, then looked into the back to see Russell hunching down as if to make himself a smaller target.

“He woke up when Lydia screamed.” Russell explained, sounding every inch a chastised teenager, and never mind that he was technically about two years Stiles’ senior. Derek didn’t blame him, although it was a bit odd. Stiles’ temper right now was slightly terrifying. “Just… sat bolt upright and said that Lydia was in trouble. He insisted we go and help, but Fallon’s still injured, so she stayed behind.”

“And it didn’t occur to any of you that  _all_ of the werewolves in Beacon Hills heard her and would be going to help her?” Stiles demanded, his knuckles white where he gripped the steering wheel. “You didn’t think that maybe you should  _stay put_ and let the rest of us handle it?!”

Lydia snorted, then made a soft, pained sound. “Stop being a hypocrite, Stilinski.”

Stiles eyes flickered to the rear-view mirror again. “I’m not being a hypocrite.” He said, and he was trying to sound firm, but there was a scared waver to his voice despite his best efforts. Derek wished he knew how to comfort him, or even what was really bothering him. “I only go charging recklessly in when there’s  _no other option_ . And I do try never to do it without a  _ plan _ . ”

“We had a plan!” Russell protested.

“Oh? What plan? Because as far as I could see, you were using yourself as bait! Which is a stupid plan anyway, but  _evidently_ Ash was not up to using magic, since breaking one stupid curse was enough that Peter couldn’t even assure me he would  _live_ .” Stiles’ voice broke on the last word. He gasped sharply and glared out at the road, jaw set and eyes wet.

Russell paled dramatically, and he wilted where he sat. “I’m sorry.” He said quietly.

A sharp pang of empathy shot through Derek, as he recognised the fear and guilt warring across Russell’s face. “Deaton is an excellent druid. If anyone can help him, Deaton can.” He said, looking back at Russell, who peeked up at him with an expression that was almost pleading. Derek sighed, his heart hurting as he searched for words of reassurance. “You did your best to protect him, and if- if he’s anything like  _my_ younger brother was, I doubt you could have stopped him. It’s not your fault.”

Stiles looked over at him, eyes wide and shocked. As he turned abruptly back to the road, all of the anger seemed to drain out of him, leaving him looking pale and younger than he really was. “Fuck.  _Fuck_ , I’m sorry, Russell. I didn’t mean-”

Russell shook his head, but then they were screeching to a stop in front of the hospital, and in the flurry of activity getting him and Lydia into Accident and Emergency, he didn’t get the chance to respond. Derek helped Allison get Lydia out of the car, and when Allison staggered a little under Lydia’s weight, he took the injured girl off her. For a moment, Allison looked like she might protest, looking at him with a mixture of disdain and resentment, but then she nodded, and went ahead to get the attention of a nurse.

Lydia was whisked off almost immediately, but after a preliminary exam that revealed Russell had only cracked a few ribs and not actually broken anything, he was forced to wait to be seen to. With Russell brooding and Allison pacing, Derek took the opportunity to catch Stiles by the elbow and drag him out of earshot. “What was that back there?” Derek asked of Stiles befuddled and impatient face.

“What was what?” Stiles retorted.

“That! Back in the car!” Derek glared at Stiles for a moment. “I thought you didn’t trust them. But now you’re so worried about the boy that you can’t even manage kindness for his  _brother_ .” As he laid it out, Stiles shoulders rose higher and higher as his tension mounted.

“He’s a  _kid_ .” Stiles bit out.

“He can’t be that many years younger than  _you_ .” Derek shot back, crossing his arms.

Stiles mouthed wordlessly for a moment, then scrubbed his hands aggressively over his face, like he could scrub his frustration off if he just rubbed hard enough. “I can’t- Okay, yes, I didn’t trust them. But now I do, and I- Fuck, I can’t do this right now, Derek.”

Derek frowned, more in worry than anger now, and his arms dropped down to his sides. Hesitantly, he lifted one again and laid it on Stiles arm. He leaned into the touch a little, and Derek realised abruptly that he was shaking. “What happened? Why do you trust them now?” He asked, desperate to understand what could possibly have made Stiles so protective of a bunch of complete strangers.

At his question, Stiles heart abruptly started to race even faster than it had been in his worry. He did not look up at Derek, and he could hear him swallow hard. “Not now, Derek? Please.”

Derek gritted his teeth, but resolved to take his own advice and show a little kindness to someone who was obviously more affected by this than himself. “Alright.” He agreed, a little stiffly. “But later, you  _will_ tell me.” He instructed, and it was only when his vision sharpened to almost painful clarity that he realised his eyes must have flared red with the instruction. He hadn’t actually intended to make that an Alpha’s command, but he didn’t regret doing so, either.

Stiles gritted his teeth, and shot Derek a look that was half resentful, half… something else. “Fine.” He bit out. “Fine, just…”

Derek gave him arm a little squeeze. “He’ll be okay.”

All at once, Stiles seemed to crumple, almost falling into Derek and pressing his forehead to his shoulder. “And what about Lydia? And Russell? There’s not enough of me to worry about everyone…” Stiles murmured plaintively, his voice thick with tears. A little alarmed and very confused, it took Derek a moment to remember how to react to something like this. Haltingly, he wrapped his arms around Stiles.

This seemed to be the right thing to do, because Stiles slumped, leaning almost all his weight on Derek. Derek didn’t mind, he could bear more weight than that before it became a strain. In fact, he found he rather liked that Stiles  _knew_ he could lean on Derek like this, and did so now, when he so evidently needed it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for "Hope For The Future"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2467883) by [Makoyi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makoyi/pseuds/Makoyi)




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